Sonic the Hedgehog: Defender of America
by AmericaverseWarlord
Summary: God forgives... but Sonic the Hedgehog doesn't! Aided only by his electric guitar and titanic strength, Sonic clashes head-on in a fury of blood and burning rubber in his struggle against the wicked forces of Communism. Does this patriotic warlord have what it takes to prevent the Ameripocalypse and save his country, or will his star-spangled rage consume his soul?
1. Blood and Heavy Metal

**TRIGGER WARNING: THE STORY YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ CONTAINS LARGE AMOUNTS OF PATRIOTISM.**

 _The year is 2004, fifteen generations after the beginning of the Ameripocalypse. The Communist race has invaded and conquered the Americaverse and all other patriotic star systems in the galaxy. The American people are all but extinct, massacred by the billions by Communist soldiers for refusing to bow before the rule of the dark sorcerer, Karl Marx._

 _However, not all patriotic lifeforms have been wiped out. Some Americans eke out an existence in exile, dreaming of the day when the Communist scourge will be eliminated and the divine children of Washington can yet again thrive as in the days of old._

 _But until that day arrives, courageous Americans congregate together in secret societies, orchestrating the downfall of the Marxist empire and fighting Communists when they can. This is their story…_

Sonic the Hedgehog soared through the red sky on his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle, slaying the fuck out of every Communist soldier in his path. He relished every tumultuous moment, letting the endless spray of Marxist blood wash over his impossibly statuesque chest and loins as he carved their gnarled heads asunder with his axe-guitar.

Black metal roared from the speakers on Sonic's bike as he unsheathed his serrated katana and used it to deflect the onslaught of bullets fired at him by the fuckling hordes foolish enough to stand in his way. A small chuckle escaped from Sonic's gritted teeth as he threw a cavalcade of knives at his adversaries, and he nodded his head in approval as each blade found its mark between the eyes of a Communist sword-thain.

Sonic then leapt majestically from his motorcycle and cast away his arms to fight the Communist host with his own cartilage-soaked fists. The hedgehog swaggered forth with utter surety, his wispy chest hair fluttering wildly in the wind. He parted the waves of Communist blackguards before him, casting these depraved hordes into the netherworld with several well-timed roundhouse kicks.

Bloodthirsty Communist marchwardens snarled and sputtered incoherently from this undeniably patriotic sight. They burgeoned forth, binding Sonic's arms with fetters of wrought iron and naquadah.

"Fuck you, I'm Sonic the Hedgehog! _It's time to rock to the fuck out!"_ Sonic bellowed with blind patriotic fury, tearing his stylish jerkin asunder and shattering the darbies and chains that bound him with little effort. Sonic furiously played a puissant riff on his axe-guitar, severing the barriers of space and time with this heavy metal melody and summoning divine astral fuckflames from the heavens above to slay the fuck out of his baseborn adversaries.

However, Sonic's fervent onslaught and furious pelvic thrusting did little to stay these endless subhuman Communist armies. Heavily armed reinforcements poured through the desolate streets of Neo-Detroit, scrambling to confront this warrior of divine, patriotic might. The Communist lieutenant leading this wretched host haughtily swaggered forth and revealed himself: an unwashed negromancer entombed in an obsidian corslet known as Vladimir Lenin.

A sickening laughter erupted from the knurled lips of the Communist lieutenant as he flung back his hood. He revealed his half decomposed face, a visage covered in ceremonial tattoos and ritual scarification that spelt out ancient curses in languages long forgotten by man.

"Dotard! Dost thou not knowest death when you see it? The time of the Americaverse has passed, its antiquated religion and beliefs extinct. Bow before the heavenly might of Communism or die now and curse in vain!" Vladimir Lenin rasped cumbrously, drawing his flaming sword and lunging at the patriotic warrior afore him.

The mighty roar of an eagle echoed through the night sky, paralyzing Lenin in his tracks before the fag end of his blade could meet Sonic's throat. The Communist hordes stood aghast, their eyes fixated on a giant bald eagle circling this ill-bred host as if they were fresh carrion.

This feathered beast of patriotic might swooped down, devouring Vladimir Lenin in one bite and skewering many of his niggardly followers with its knife-like talons. Atop this majestic creature rode a man swaddled in a black cloak that toted dual machine guns, mercilessly unloading the full force of these weapons upon the foul Marxist soldiers scrambling to flee.

Sonic was thoroughly impressed by this fearless, patriotic show of force and decided to join in the courageous onslaught. He then dropped his blue jeans to reveal his throbbing cyborg member that doubled as a shotgun. The hedgehog stood unflinchingly alongside his enigmatic ally, strangling his metallic loins tightly and passionately.

Sonic cocked his cock and mercilessly bombarded his foes with a faceful of buckshot from his artificial gun dick. The hooded figure pulled upon on the reins of his faithful eagle steed, commanding this majestic avian hellbeast to spew fire from its beak which wholly incinerated hundreds of noisome Communist fucklings and wraith-kin.

Sonic lifted up the charred skull of Vladimir Lenin and took a bite out of it as to frighten off the pittance of Communist soldiers that survived this fiercely American massacre. "Star-spangled energy courses through you, star-child! You truly bleed the red, white, and blue blood of an American warrior!" The hooded figure praised. He then roared with thunderous laughter, slapped Sonic on the back, and threw back the veil covering his face to properly greet him.

Sonic's knees trembled as he stared into the fiery eyes and immaculately chiseled facial features of the legendary American warrior unveiled from under the cloak. Sonic was overcome with a profound sense of adoration and terror as he fell upon his face before the mighty patriotic demigod of old standing before him: _Abraham Lincoln,_ son of Tupac Amaru Shakur Lincoln, grandson of the deity Thomas Jefferson.


	2. By the Grace of Lincoln

**SUGGESTED LISTENING FOR THIS CHAPTER: "BESTIAL MOANS" BY ABAZAGORATH**

The tales and songs of Lincoln's unrivaled patriotism echo in the collective minds of all Americans, such as how he single-handedly slew Osama bin Laden and his entire host of undead al-Qaeda warriors at the battle of the Emancipation Proclamation. But for many patriots, Abraham Lincoln's most legendary achievement was when he consecutively fucked ten thousand virgin grizzly bears to death, thus resulting in the extinction of all bears in the Americaverse. Such is a holy act.

"Stand with your chin held high and still as stone, Sonic of the clan Hedgehog. You are a descendant of Washington! You bow to no man," Honest Abe spoke with a wise and fair voice, his gleaming eyes seemingly peering into Sonic's soul.

"How do you know of my name, curve peeler? And more importantly, how did you survive the Ameripocalypse? The bloodline of patriotic demigods was wiped out well over an eon ago by Communists. It was fucking brutal," Sonic inquired, boldly testing Lincoln of his godhood. Lincoln let out a small laugh, "I'm fucking Abraham Lincoln, that's how."

Honest Abe stroked the feathers of his noble eagle steed whilst feeding it a still-beating Communist heart he found strewn upon the ashen ground. "The Americaverse needs someone like you, Sonic. A fearless defender whose heart yearns only for the godless, kinky love of Lady Liberty," Lincoln spoke aloud with a commanding, yet soothing presence.

He turned to Sonic and smiled, "After I was mortally wounded and nearly slain by the Communist general John Wilkes Booth over an age ago, I dedicated myself to assembling a task force of patriotic savants to destroy Karl Marx and his niggardly followers. We call ourselves the _Biker Brethren,_ and I want you to join us!"

"Look rail-splitter, I ain't your resistance member. I'm not going to risk my life and loins for your butter churnin' bullshit. I slay the fuck out of Communists when I can; how else is a red-blooded American supposed to rub one out? I'm a simple man, I like heavy metal and chicks with big hooters," Sonic scoffed. He then mounted atop his motorcycle and drove doughnuts around Honest Abe and his giant eagle whilst shamelessly rocking out to screamo metal. Despite Sonic's hollering cuckoldry and fierce nignorance, Lincoln couldn't help but be impressed by the hedgehog's unadulterated patriotism.

Sonic's tosspot antics came to an abrupt halt when a flaming arrow pierced the front tire of his Harley, setting his vehicle ablaze like a mighty squib. Sonic fell to his knees, choking back tears for his inanimate brother in arms. A dead silence fell, and Sonic's gaze shifted towards the baleful sodomites that committed this detestable act.

Thousands of attack velociraptors circled their location, and atop them sat heavily armed terrorist soldiers entombed in robotic exoskeletons. Leading this pack was a gargantuan hellbeast surely spawned from within the most unholy depths of Communist space. It was a prehistoric creature of the genus Communusaurus Rex, more widely known in the common tongue as a big fucking monster. Upon this scale-blazoned colossus stood dozens of Communist battlements and bulwarks, each sewn into its skin and teeming with turrets manned by countless unwashed Marxist fucklords.

"It's been a long time, Abe. To think, it's been an entire age since we last crossed paths! How's that kid of yours? Dead, I hope!" A mysterious warrior cackled saucily, swaggering forth with intensely animated hip and groin movements and training his sniper rifle between Lincoln's eyes. The weathered Saiyan battle armor and matted yellow fur of this foul mercenary made him almost unmistakable for any wizened patriot. Before them stood _Mercenary Pooh,_ the deadliest assassin in the Americaverse.

Once, he was but the simple excrement of an undesirable hellhound. A lesser demon known as Christopher Robin used black magic to breathe unholy life into him, earning him the affectionate title of "Pooh Bear." In an act of defiance, Winnie the Pooh slew his master Christopher Robin, slicing his head clean off and devouring his remains. After that day, Pooh devoted his life to the wrathful occupation of a hired assassin, charging an exorbitant fee of fifty million bars of latinum for each hit. His deadly skills were instrumental in America's defeat in the Communist Wars, for he was hired by Adolf Hitler to assassinate the remaining Founding Fathers.

Mercenary Pooh unsheathed his chainsaw-guitar and lunged towards Lincoln. Sonic swiftly intervened, clashing guitars with this detestable sodomite. The hedgehog countered with a graceful roundhouse kick to the jaw, knocking out several of Pooh's ivory fangs and sending him limply flying backwards like a ragdoll.

"Y-You goddamn baka! It's been ten thousand years since the blood of Winnie the Pooh, the greatest assassin in this galaxy, has been spilt! I'm going to slice off your love handles with a linoleum knife for that!" Pooh spat in a fit of blind rage, signaling for his velociraptor cavalry to step in and smite Sonic and Lincoln.


	3. Mercenary Pooh's Demise

**NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE VULGAR OR HURTFUL REVIEWS ON THIS STORY. IF YOU DO, I WILL POUR HOT ACID DOWN YOUR THROAT AND BREAK ALL OF YOUR FINGERS WHILE YOUR CHILDREN WATCH. THANK YOU, ENJOY THE FANFICTION.**

"Hey, faggot!" Sonic began with a traditional American greeting. He smirked, "I'm gonna' need to borrow that eagle of yours."

Lincoln placed his rugged digits upon Sonic's quivering face, performing a Vulcan mind meld upon him to fully learn what act of patriotic aggression he was planning. Abraham smiled and lightly nodded, tossing Sonic the keys to his eagle.

The sweaty hedgehog climbed atop Freedom-Song, the Lord of all Eagles, and effortlessly took flight into the sky. This winged horror swept down and consumed hundreds of velociraptors and their sodomous riders, driven by its thirst for Communist blood. The Communist sperg-slaves beneath screamed, begging for a mercy of which they could never receive. Sonic channeled all of his hormonal rage into his axe-guitar, an instrument that was wreathed with the sacred flames of Washington that could never be doused.

This hairy patriot ejaculated an innumerable amount of explosives from his XM25 grenade launcher, righteously skewering the Marxist and Leninist fucklings flanking him. Freedom-Song soared over the largest prehistoric brute among this host, a beast who bore the title of nobility "Pube-Slayer the Carrion-Lord."

Sonic leapt off of his heavenly eagle steed and readied his blade, digging his guitar into the dinosaur's armored flesh and raking it all the way down its body. A tidal wave of crimson hellbeast blood showered over the battlefield, filling every orifice in Sonic's body with its fading life force. Pube-Slayer let out one final roar as he fell, crushing a great throng of velociraptors under him and mangling their corpses beyond recognition.

Mercenary Pooh convulsed with fear, blustering incoherently and throwing himself upon Lincoln. Honest Abe laughed heartily and evaded all of Pooh's clumsy and bedraggled strikes with ease. Abe Lincoln then slapped Winnie the Pooh with his raging hard-on, knocking out all of his teeth in one blow. Pooh pathetically scrambled across the ground to escape, waddling in a puddle of his own blood and various other bodily fluids.

Lincoln unsheathed his katana that was hewn from the menstrual blood of purebred hellhounds and swiftly pinned the blade through Pooh's arm to keep him grounded and immobile. "You can still emerge with your life intact, ye' foul hellspawn of Christopher Robin! Renounce your worship of Karl Marx now and I shall release thee!" Lincoln bellowed in a deep voice, displaying the legendary mercy and nobility characteristic of all sons of Washington.

"Ha! Enjoy this victory while you can, patriotic dotard. The flames of war are upon you, Karl Marx shall destroy every pocket of American resistance in the patriotverse! Your detestable Biker Brethren shall fall. Of all the motherfuckers I've faced, you've got to be the motherfuckest!" Mercenary Pooh malignantly boasted like the hollering fuckmeister he truly was.

Lincoln furrowed his brow in annoyance. He effortlessly lifted up Winnie the Pooh by the leg and hurled him into the sun above. _"O-OH BOTHER!"_ Pooh cried out in terror, instantly incinerated in the sun's corona.

Sonic let out a small laugh as he scraped the dinosaur meat from his leather boots. The hedgehog turned to Lincoln and grinned, "So, about that little resistance thing of yours... _I think I'd like to join."_


	4. Defenders of America

**DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASES YOU MAY CONTRACT FROM READING THIS FANFICTION.**

"...The frell are we going anyway, rail-splitter?" Sonic questioned gruffly as he sat behind Lincoln atop the soaring eagle Freedom-Song. Sonic took care to leave at least one furlong of distance between them on the saddle, as any closer would have been gay and viewed as an abomination in the eyes of his patriotic forefathers.

"We are traveling to the planet Washington #7, sacred homeworld of the Liberty-kin and one of the last free planets in all of the Americaverse," Lincoln spoke aloud in his righteous, warm voice that could melt down the defenses of even the most hardened American warlords. Freedom-Song let out a brief caw, spreading his wings as he gracefully swooped downwards into the planet's atmosphere.

The world beneath was a true testament to American strength and might, a gorgeous world emblazoned with endless lush forests and glittering bodies of water nearly untouched by man. Sprawling cities of white stone broke up the organic terrain, built in a Palladian architectural style reminiscent of the great White House of old. A single manly tear trickled down Sonic's cheek; for once in his life, the hedgehog truly felt at home.

Sonic and Lincoln both dismounted from this ferocious avian steed and removed their space helmets. Lincoln and his companion confidently swaggered forth to greet a welcoming party of their fellow Americans that stood before the gates of Washington #7's capital city. A swart-faced warrior swaddled in a glistening basketball jersey stepped to the front of the gathering and humbly bowed before Honest Abe.

"It is good to see you are well, my father. Pray tell, is this the final member of our company that you set out to recruit?" The mysterious man spoke with a soft and wise voice.

"A keen mind as always, my son. Indeed he is! Sonic, I would like to introduce you to my dear son, _Michael Jordan,"_ Abe Lincoln declared with a smile. As was tradition, Sonic performed the traditional American greeting ritual with Jordan: a high five, a pat back on the back no less than seven times, and a playful slap to the loins. Jordan laughed heartily, "A friend of Lincoln is a brother of mine, O' patriotic hedgehog. You will make a fine addition to the company!"

The three patriots walked into an ornate ziggurat situated in the center of this gleaming city, surely the meeting place for the courageous members of the Biker Brethren. "You see Sonic, the tale of the great grizzly bear massacre of many moons ago was greatly exaggerated. Forsooth, in all of my mercy and compassion, I allowed one of those wretched creatures I deflowered to live. This she-bear would act as a patriotic vessel, bearing me an heir of all things American and holy. Michael Jordan is a brilliant warrior and an honorable man, and one day his son may be an even better one," Lincoln recounted with a smile. Honest Abe then paused to disrobe from his garments of battle, donning a pale cloak that shone almost blindingly bright in the sun.

"If this nigger keeps talking shit I'm gonna deck him the fuck out…" Sonic grumbled beneath his breath, showing little patience for any activity that didn't involve mass genocide. The party entered into a common hall in the heart of this grand palace, and they were greeted by an assortment of burly American warriors that were clearly no strangers to the fine art of smiting Communists.

"If you are to join the Biker Brethren, then you must first become acquainted with all of its fearless members. To the left of you is _Garfield,_ eldest and wisest warrior among us, wielder of the chainsaw-nunchuks," Michael Jordan articulated, directing Sonic's fiery gaze to an obese man-cat that was surely the spawn of the unholy romance between man and beast.

"Beside him stands _Charles Barkley,_ my one and only son of whom I love dearly," Jordan continued, pointing Sonic to a quivering figure that stood in the shadows behind Garfield. "H-Hello…" Barkley murmured coyly. Sonic was puzzled, standing in disbelief that such a frail and nervous boy could be the grandson of the mighty Abraham Lincoln.

"And finally, the last two members of our party are _Anne Frank_ and _Richard Nixon,"_ Michael Jordan finished. Sonic spat blood upon the floor as a sign of disgust as he gazed upon the gnarled face of Nixon. Tricky Dick's treachery was well known to all Americans, and the tales of how Nixon sold out his own people and worked alongside Karl Marx were legendary.

Sonic readied his axe-guitar for a duel to the death, but was interrupted when Abe Lincoln stepped between them. "Stop this senseless violence at once! Nixon was a spy who played an instrumental role in the Communist Wars by my own orders, not a traitor. If it weren't for his brave actions and patriotism, the casualties during the Ameripocalypse would have been far greater. Hell, we probably wouldn't even be standing here today!" Lincoln boomed with a commanding presence, defusing the tension between the two warriors. Sonic begrudgingly backed down, still untrusting of Nixon.

Sonic then turned to the fair skinned maiden Anne Frank, an extremely attractive twenty-something enshrined in a black plugsuit that accentuated her feminine curves and ample, all-American bosom. The hedgehog knelt down and took her delicate hands into his own. He planted a gentle kiss upon them and stared directly into her shimmering blue eyes. "Hey babe. How about you say we blow this joint and go fuck behind a dumpster?" Sonic propositioned Anne Frank, using his finest courting techniques upon her. Abraham Lincoln slowly nodded his head in approval.

"As an artificial patriotic lifeform, I am incapable of emotion and therefore cannot reciprocate your feelings. Please, forgive me," Anne Frank apologized flatly in a cold and mechanical voice, dropping Sonic's gaze and withdrawing her hand from his sweaty grasp.

Garfield patted Sonic on the back and laughed. "Don't feel bad, laddy! I made the same mistake when she and I first met. Even used the same moves on the lass, too. Communists engineered thousands of androids like her during the wars. Thankfully we managed to reprogram her, and now she's an invaluable asset to the team," The portly cat explained, speaking in his native Glaswegian accent while taking a bite of lasagna. Except it wasn't actually lasagna, because the sauce was blood and the cheese was flesh.

Elsewhere, deep within the unholy depths of Communist space, Mercenary Pooh's charred body was dragged into the obsidian throne room of the demonic sorcerer, _Karl Marx._

Marx spat and wheezed in his dotage. Blood gurgled from his lips and dripped into a crimson puddle on the floor, giving away his ill health. The chamber reeked of death and carrion, and the walls were adorned with great tapestries sewn from decaying American flesh. The throne of this dark necromancer was carved from bone, and hundreds of cracked skulls were strewn at his feet.

"Ooh, father! Delicious corpses, yes! Mmm, charred flesh and burnt hair! Let me eat the Pooh Bear and make love to his corpse, can I father? Can I?" A filthy, pallid wretch known as _Adam Sandler_ begged pathetically. He was a miserable creature, born from a marriage Karl Marx would like to forget.

Communist soldiers tossed Pooh's battered and horrifically burned body before Marx. The foul mercenary gasped for air, barely hanging on to life. Marx clumsily stepped down from his throne, limping forwards and resting his boot upon Pooh's head. "Now, explain this to me, Pooh: how was my best assassin so easily beaten by the hands of a few filthy Americans?" Marx growled in an almost demonic tone of voice as he applied more pressure to Pooh's head.

"I-It was Lincoln, my lord! I've never seen anything like it, such raw patriotic power! They decimated my host with ease, even Pube-Slayer! And his friend may have been even stronger than he was! I couldn't have done anything to stop them!" Pooh rasped, desperately trying to weave an excuse to save his miserable life.

Karl Marx looked thoroughly unamused as he withdrew a small spell book entitled _"Mein Kampf"_ from his trench coat. Marx began to read from this accursed book, speaking out forbidden curses and incantations long forgotten by man.

The spells of this book slowly began to eat away at Pooh's life force, making every orifice in his body leak blood until the foul mercenary bled out entirely upon the floor. Adam Sandler then voraciously devoured Winnie the Pooh's remains.


	5. The Villainy of Karl Marx

**ATTENTION READERS: PLEASE STOP SENDING ME PICTURES OF YOUR GENITALS VIA THE PRIVATE MESSAGING SYSTEM. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE.**

Karl Marx ran his gnarled fingers through his ratty, ashen beard, meticulously crafting his next foul strategy to slay Lincoln and the Biker Brethren who posed a great threat to his dominion. A sickening crunch was heard as Adam Sandler began grinding Pooh's genital bones to bits after voraciously devouring the mercenary's charred flesh.

A putrid smile formed upon Marx's anemic, blood soaked face as a devilish idea began to take shape in his mind. Karl Marx turned towards his scantily clad female servants and grinned, "Bring before me the American prisoner captured during our last raid, the warrior known as _Hulk Hogan."_

A battered and inhumanely tortured warrior covered in infected gashes and scars was dragged in and thrown before Marx by a heavily armored contingent of Communist guards. "I fear no man, beast or Communist! You've tortured me for ten days straight, but you'll never get the goddamn Hulkster to talk! I'm gonna shove a fucking railroad spike up your dick, brother!" Hulk Hogan spat ferociously, his seething patriotic fury barely being contained by his captors. Karl Marx appeared amused by Hulk Hogan's ineffectual show of force, sarcastically applauding his vain effort.

"Haha, that's almost cute. But I'm afraid that you have no information of any worth to me, my _spy planted in the Biker Brethren_ has already given me a wealth of intel about your worthless resistance movement. It's that raw strength of yours that I truly desire! Verily, you shall make for a fine Communist…" Karl Marx murmured cryptically, licking his lips with his forked tongue and placing his outstretched palm upon Hulk Hogan's face.

The touch of this foul Communist burned into Hulk's golden skin with a searing pain indescribable by any language of mortals. The Communist lord read aloud from Mein Kampf yet again, channeling dark energy through his arm and into Hulk Hogan's very soul. Grisly images of genocide and bloodshed filled Hulk's mind, and thousands of years worth of memories of Marxist atrocities quickly overtook him.

Every death, every detestable sin ever committed by a Communist soldier in the name of Karl Marx became so clear in his mind that Hogan's psyche was fractured far beyond repair. Hulk Hogan writhed in agony, begging for an end to this savage mental torture. Karl Marx closed his heart to his desperate plea for salvation. Instead, he cackled maniacally as he completely eradicated what was left of the Hulkster's mind.

Hulk Hogan fell to his knees and a deathly silence filled the room as Marx concluded this foul curse. Hulk Hogan's patriotic values and honor had been completely stripped away, leaving a single overriding directive left in his mind: _Kill all Americans._ Hulk Hogan was now a Communist.

"You deserve a proper Communist title, my child. I christen thee Joseph Stalin, Pestilence-Lord. Now, arise and set forth! Crush the Biker Brethren on the planet Washington #7 and bring me the severed head of Abraham Lincoln!" Karl Marx boomed throatily, immensely proud of his detestable handiwork.

Stalin bowed before his new master and swore fealty towards him. In a few short weeks, he assembled his wicked Communist legions and prepared a fleet of heavily armed Grundrisse-class battlecruisers to destroy the American world and smite the resistance. Adam Sandler identifies himself as a human toilet on his blog, or "latrine-kin."

Elsewhere, Sonic began his rigorous training to become a full member of the Biker Brethren. First, Michael Jordan taught him in the fine art of controlling and harnessing the latent patriotic energy within his veins and loins. "Pay close attention, my brother," Jordan instructed in his usual serene tone, closing his eyes and cupping his swarthy hands together.

He exhaled deeply, entering an almost trance-like state as he channeled all of his patriotic energy into his rugged digits. A gleaming energy blossomed from his hands, a pale light that shone in wondrous hues of red, white and blue. Jordan opened his eyes and playfully smiled, "Now, try and dodge this!"

Michael Jordan grasped the energy sphere in his hands like a mighty basketball and soared into the sky for a sweeping slam dunk. "S-Shit! I'm gonna slap the black off of you!" Sonic blustered. He gritted his teeth and tore his belt asunder, dropping his stylish jeans. The hedgehog recalled Michael Jordan's wise teachings, hastily channeling a maelstrom of patriotic life force into his artificial loins.

Sonic shot a laser out of his urethra, entering into a beam struggle with Jordan's own patriotic energy wave. Sonic easily overpowered his combatant, detonating Jordan's energy sphere and spawning a great conflagration akin to that of only the most holy astral fuckflares.

Abraham Lincoln watched from the sidelines, standing in awe of Sonic's prodigious American strength. "Such raw, untapped power! Even with my divine ancestry, it still took me decades to manifest such patriotic energy, even after I cast the evil from deep within my soul. Could this son of Washington be the legendary _Patriot-Incarnate,_ the one who Tupac Shakur spoke of in his prophecies…?" Lincoln pondered to himself, stroking the slender hairs upon his chin whilst deep in thought. Sonic and the other Bikers roared with hearty laughter, cracking open a six-pack and debaucherously celebrating in the traditional, American way of their forefathers.

After hours of drunken festivities, Sonic retired to his living quarters located within a fallout shelter deep beneath the gleaming cities of Washington #7's surface. The hedgehog found himself unable to enter hypersleep, tossing and turning upon the stone floor. Sonic refused to believe in "beds", vehemently insisting that they were made for faggots and sperg-kin.

The hedgehog decided to skulk through the dank, poorly lit catacombs surrounding him to pass the time. Sonic's interest was piqued as he came upon Michael Jordan's humble lodgings, so he invited himself in and began rummaging through his personal belongings as any inquisitive patriot would. Soon, all of Jordan's various knick-knacks and paraphernalia were strewn carelessly upon the floor and then set ablaze for his own amusement.

Sonic reached into a drawer and removed a mysterious photograph showcasing Jordan with a delicate fuchsia-haired woman. "That's Kaname Madoka, _my wife,_ " Michael Jordan spoke tenderly, startling Sonic with his presence. "So, what happened to your bitch?" Sonic questioned bluntly, amusing him with his Americanesque lack of tact.

"It feels like a lifetime has passed since it happened. My son, Charles Barkley, was barely a year old at the time. Communists attacked our previous homeworld, and Madoka was caught in the crossfire. She sacrificed her own life to get our son to safety, fighting until her last breath," Michael Jordan answered softly, meeting Sonic's cold, unwavering gaze.

"You see Sonic, this is why we're really here. Not for the thrill of rocking the fuck out, nor for the intense pleasure of Communist blood trickling down our loins. It's to make some good out of the dirty, nasty, unbelievable lifestyle fate has handed us. I believe in a world free from Communist oppression, and I believe that ideal is worth fighting for until my star-spangled blood runs dry," Jordan warmly expressed, inspiring Sonic with his eloquently crafted words.

Sonic smiled weakly and took a seat parallel to Jordan. "Well, as long as we're talkin' about gay-ass feelings n' shit, I might as well tell you why I'm here. My father, Tails the Fox, converted to Communism when I was just a boy. It's damn hard to see such a man of honor slip away into a pathetic shadow of his former self. He would go away for weeks at a time and come home soaked in the blood of my American kinsmen. And yet, he felt _clean_. I slew the fuck out of his punk-ass one night while he slept, driving off on my Harley and never looking back," The hedgehog concluded, disclosing this tragic tale for the first time since that fateful day.


	6. Through a Glass, Barkley

**I WOULD LIKE TO PERSONALLY THANK USER "VEGETASONIC1997" FOR HIS GENEROUS DONATION OF 100 DOLLARS. I WILL SPEND ALL OF THIS MONEY ON DRUGS. ENJOY THE STORY.**

The ever-timorous Charles Barkley bowed humbly before Sonic, quivering in anticipation all the while. "...P-Please go easy on me, Mr. S-Sonic…" Barkley stuttered clumsily, sweating profusely. He entered into an unbalanced fighting stance to begin his training with the patriotic hedgehog. Sonic dropped his stylish habergeon, seeing no need for such raiment when dueling a seemingly frail opponent. "Make it like Helen Keller and shut the fuck up!" Sonic cockily hobnobbed and threw himself upon Barkley.

The overweening warrior stood aghast as Barkley leapt effortlessly into the sky, levitating just out of Sonic's reach. "Aye, looks like the lad is about to discover Barkley's telekinesis ability!" Garfield chuckled warmly. He sat with a concourse of his fellow patriots on the sidelines, watching the fight unfold with bated breath.

Barkley swiftly countered, using the innate powers of his mind to freeze Sonic in place. "...P-Please forgive me, Sonic!" The swarthy warrior entreated as he utilized his psychokinesis to hoist Sonic upwards and repeatedly slam him into the earth.

"Riddle me this, Barkley: can you read minds too?" Sonic inquired with a cunning smile, crafting a clever strategy in his mind. Barkley nodded nervously and closed his eyes, peering into Sonic's depraved head to prove this ability. Upon viewing the unhallowed horrors and images of mass torment lurking within Sonic's psyche, Charles Barkley immediately loosened his telekinetic grip on the hedgehog and began furiously projectile vomiting. Upon his descent, Michael Jordan hurriedly ran to comfort his son. The baller let out a sigh of relief, relieved to see that Barkley was unharmed.

The only thing comparable to the sheer depravity of these visions would be an orgy of inbred, headless women hewn from lasers godlessly fornicating with a seven headed, apocalyptic fuckwraith, a beast that has ten thousand members and twelve quintillion scrotums. And upon climax, each of the seven heads would passionately cry out, "All made of flesh must burn! If not as food, as firewood! All born of meat must rot, every beast and every man!"

After mastering the patriotic energy wave from Jordan and learning to defend himself from mental incursions by Barkley, Sonic went on to complete his training with Garfield and Anne Frank. The hedgehog was taught in the fine art of survival in the wilderness by Garfield, learning to bake lasagna using only pubic hair and boiled urine. Afterwards, the artificial human Anne Frank educated the patriotic warlord in advanced motorcycle repair. However, Sonic spent most of the lesson trying to rub one out.

Sonic traveled to the nethermost level of Washington #7's complex tunnel network in order to receive training from Richard Nixon, of whom he still had a great deal of misgivings about. He trod lightly and cautiously into Tricky Dick's barren chamber. Sonic beheld a poorly lit room dearth of any furnishings save for a red axe-guitar hung from the wall, a weapon that struck Sonic as looking suspiciously similar to his own, except heavily worn from years of battle. Sonic smugly looked down his nose at Nixon, "So, what exactly could a sorry-ass motherfucker like you teach me?"

"There's nothing of any value to you I can teach, Sonic the Hedgehog. All I can do is warn you: _leave the Biker Brethren while you still can,"_ The pallid warrior before him rasped deeply as he met Sonic's fierce gaze, shooting him an unexpectedly cold, morose look that sent chills down his spine.

"...Bitch, are you for real?" Sonic hesitantly questioned, taken aback by Nixon's cryptic message and somber demeanor.

"They're not what you think they are, Sonic! They are the harbingers of the Americaverse's destruction! I have foreseen it. Especially do not trust Abraham Lincoln, he and Karl Marx are-" Nixon urgently divulged before stopping himself mid-sentence, speaking with a certain intimacy as if he somehow knew Sonic personally.

"Forgive me, I've spoken carelessly. Just promise me that you'll slay Karl Marx when the time comes, no matter the cost. Make this your single minded goal, and never stray from that. End his life with your own two hands, and accept no alternative," Nixon apologized in a flat tone.

Before Sonic could probe him for further answers, he placed his index and middle fingers upon his forehead and mysteriously vanished into thin air. "...Dayum, that nigga be trippin'," Sonic scoffed, trying to write off Nixon's arcane warning as the ramblings of a man driven mad by ages of Communist atrocities.

"Ah, Sonic! Glad you could make it, my patriotic brother!" Abraham Lincoln laughed heartily, having invited Sonic to take part in his first mission briefing as a full-fledged member of the mighty Biker Brethren. Sonic contemptuously stared at Nixon who stood parallel to him. The hedgehog crinkled his brow, beginning to doubt Tricky Dick's loyalty to Lady Liberty because of the enigmatic jargon he spouted the day before.

Lincoln's feet shuffled on the glistening chalcedony floor beneath as he retrieved a frayed document from his loin raiment. He unfolded this ancient parchment in his hands for all the bikers to behold. "Wait, could that be…? I thought that the holy _Declaration of Independence_ was burned by Communists ten thousand moons ago!" Michael Jordan proclaimed in awe. He then fell on his face in reverence for this sacred document penned by the patriotic gods of old.

Lincoln silently mouthed the words of this vellum scroll, inspecting it thoroughly as to uncover the divine secrets said to be emblazoned upon its surface. "As I suspected: the _Communist-Slayer_ has been stashed away in the ancient Marxist stronghold on Planet Marx Alpha," Lincoln noted in a hushed voice. The other bikers whispered amongst themselves, leaving Sonic out of the conversation.

"TCB. That stands for typical cracker behavior. Do you stank-poons mind tellin' me what the hell this piece of paper is?" Sonic grumbled in a thoroughly irritated tone.

"My apologies, star-child! One of our primary goals since the formation of this patriotic alliance has been to track down the Communist-Slayer, an ancient guitar forged by George Washington himself that can only be played by someone with a truly patriotic soul. It is foretold in legend that only this holy instrument can slay Karl Marx and powerful Communists like him, but it won't be a simple task to retrieve it. That's where you come in, Sonic," Lincoln smiled earnestly, passing the enchanted document over for his own inspection.

"The Communist-Slayer is located on the uppermost level of a heavily armed tower entrenched deep within the unholy Marxist dominion. Each level of said tower is guarded by a puissant foe, each mightier than the last. Our intel tells us that a bloodthirsty imp known as Gabriel Iglesias lies on the bottom floor; to this day, no American warrior has defeated him in battle. Forsooth, we may not survive this fight. If you choose to remain here, no warrior among us shall think any less of you," Lincoln offered graciously. The other bikers nodded their heads in agreement.

"And stay here and miss out on the action? Like that's gonna happen. Let's go slay the fuck out of some Communist scum!" Sonic roared savagely, astounding all with his unbridled patriotism as he leapt atop the high eagle Freedom-Song and took flight into the sky. Garfield insists that Futanari porn isn't gay; no one is convinced.


	7. Fall of the Americaverse

**THIS CHAPTER OF MY SONIC FANFICTION FEATURES NO SONIC CHARACTERS. JUST AS GOD INTENDED.**

 _"Americans often ask themselves: what is freedom? What is liberty? What is patriotism? What is life? Ultimately, they will die with these questions unanswered. That is the final fate of their sinful race."_

Before the beginning of days, there existed only the divine spirit of _George Washington._ A transcendental being of freedom he was, looming as a great pale shape against the eternal blackness of the void where he lay dormant for eons. Beyond the imperishable flame of Washington's hallowed wisdom and patriotism, there was nothing.

In all of his divine might, Washington began to kindle a great spirit from this nothingness. He brought into existence the mightiest weapon known to the Americaverse: _the electric guitar._ This angelic instrument descended into his unsullied hands, and George Washington channeled his pious soul into a messianic harmony. Righteous tears streamed down the ivory cheeks of Washington as he played, and his divine melody brought into existence the heavenly bodies and great star clusters of the Americaverse.

With his angelic guitar solo and savage head thrashing, the American Fabius immaculately forged each of the planets in the omniverse. With his black metal shrieking, the deity George Washington created the American people to populate his ultimate creation. A golden shower then sprang forth from Washington's sacred loins, filling each of the planets with great bodies of water. In his final act of patriotic godhood, Washington created seven lesser spirits, the offspring of his thought and crotch that were prophesied to rule over the Americaverse for time eternal.

Washington kindled a heavenly gift for each of his immortal children: Thomas Jefferson was given deific authority over all eagles in the Americaverse, Benjamin Franklin received a basketball made of machine guns, Alexander Hamilton was given dominion over the forces of nature, James Madison was gifted control over the forces of death and passing, Shaquille O'Neal was given a MP3 player full of nightcore music, and Biggie Smalls was granted divine lordship over all anime hentai. Lastly, John Adams, the eldest and wisest among their order, inherited Washington's own guitar, of which would later be christened "The Communist-Slayer." Shaq refuses to admit that nightcore is just anime music raised in pitch.

Afterwards, George Washington's power was fully spent. He used the last of his strength to create the afterlife, a place which would come to be known by future generations as the _The Great_ _White House._ As his last act, he entrusted the protection of the Americaverse to the seven Founding Fathers and ascended to this higher plane to slumber for the rest of eternity.

For many ages the patriotic galaxies existed in harmony, but these precious years of peace and plenty were not to last. A darkness festered in the noble heart of John Adams, tarnishing his patriotic soul and gnawing away at his mind. John Adams rebuked all of the evil from his soul, but with a grave consequence that even the Founding Fathers couldn't foresee: the wickedness from within him manifested itself as a living creature, a new lifeform known as a _Communist._

Wielding great strength that far surpassed even that of his creator, this demonic entity savagely slew John Adams and ingurgitated all of his godly powers. This wretched spirit took a new title, crowning himself _"Adolf Hitler, Ruler of the Americaverse."_

Greatly fearing Hitler's unparalleled puissance, the Founding Fathers hardened their hearts to the plight of the American people and fled when the world needed them most. Their detestable, unpatriotic act was soon repaid in kind as Hitler's soldiers viciously smote his former brethren and extinguished all resistance to his rule.

Bred by Hitler in mockery of Washington's divine children, an innumerable horde of Communist fucklings set forth under the Master of Lies' malicious command to drive the American people to total extinction. But when the freedoms and liberties the American people held dear were threatened, a man and his son rose against this perilous threat. Their legendary names were _Tupac Shakur_ and _Abraham Lincoln._

In their hands they held hope, the hope of a bright future for all of Washington's folk. With enormous strength the sons of Washington fought back, decimating the host of Hitler with an endless army of patriotic warlords in an era of untold evolution. Commanding great machines of war, this resistance one-sidedly wiped out all of the Communist scourge that challenged them in a bloodbath of patriotic fury.

In the end, Tupac Shakur and the dark lord Adolf Hitler clashed in a climactic battle that brought a swift end to both of their lives. Even with the Communist lord vanquished, the execrable damage was done: the Americaverse was forever marred, its beauty devastated and people scattered.

An accursed new foe soon arose from the shadows, an undead weaver of lies and forbidden dwimmer-craft that took up the cursed mantle of Adolf Hitler. His name was Karl Marx. The American people soon learned of true despair, losing the will to fight as the great Communist empire soon overwhelmed them with their vast menace and incalculable numbers. _The Ameripocalypse had begun._

"Foolish Americans! Tremble before the absolute might of your true ruler, Karl Marx! You shall soon know of the Communist plight, of the overwhelming fear and despair my ancestors suffered by your hands! Patriotism is the fire in which you will burn!" The Communist lord boomed from the zenith of his iron fortress. His heir, Adam Sandler, led their detestable forces in prostration, forcing them to accept Karl Marx as their new lord and master.

 _"Americans often ask me: why do you fight? Why do you destroy? Why do you mutilate? Why do you torture? Ultimately, they will die with these questions unanswered. That is the final, indisputable fate of which they have earned themselves. Every Communist death at the hands of an American shall be repaid ten thousand fold!"_


	8. Abraham Lincoln: The Pimp

**WARNING: THIS FANFICTION MAY CAUSE DIFFICULT OR PAINFUL URINATION. ALSO, DEATH.**

The Biker Brethren tirelessly trekked through the frozen wastelands of Planet Marx Alpha. After several fortnights, they finally reached their destination: _Trotsky Tower,_ final resting place of the legendary Communist-Slayer. Despite having ample supplies of drinking water, Garfield insisted upon drinking his own urine for survival. Just as any hairy patriot would.

The burly Americans parted the waves of subhuman Communist fucklords guarding this installation athwart with ease. They swaggered fearlessly into the dreaded outpost ahead, determined to hew off the heads of each Communist guardian and reclaim the ancestral guitar of Washington.

Even the depraved warrior Sonic was appalled by the bloated, ghastly imp that awaited the bikers on the first floor. A swollen, diseased wretch teetered before them, its legless stumps entombed in a rickety wheelbarrow that was far too small to support its unimaginable girth. Its face was smeared with corpse paint and both of its forearms were hewn off, and rocket launchers could be found entrenched in the cloven stubs where its hefty digits once laid.

"So, this is Gabriel Iglesias, the Fluffy Lord," Michael Jordan orated in a hushed tone, brandishing his chainsaw-guitar whilst simultaneously dribbling his weaponized, Adamantium-coated basketball. Charles Barkley's greatest secret is that he is addicted to eating his own hair; hence his baldness.

Sonic planted several well-timed jabs and blows on Iglesias. He stood aghast, finding that the fluffy imp's girth absorbed the brunt of these impacts and left him totally undamaged. Gabriel Iglesias smiled savagely and charged forward, impaling Sonic with the rusty bayonet attached to his weaponized gun-arm.

The hedgehog gagged on his own blood, sliding off of this corroded blade and collapsing from the severity of his wounds. Abraham Lincoln welled up with fury at the sight of his skewered brother in arms. He clenched his fists, seething with divine fuckrage as he turned to scowl at the hollering shitmeister before him.

"Tonight, _you!"_ Abraham Lincoln saucily threatened, shooting Gabriel Iglesias the bedroom eyes as he unsheathed his ancestral katana. "Your weapons are broken!" Abraham Lincoln boomed with an all-powerful presence. The Americaverse itself submissively bent to Lincoln's divine command, causing all of Gabriel's armaments to suddenly shatter and turn into dust. _The universe is a bitch and Abraham Lincoln is her pimp._

Gabriel Iglesias burbled hysterically out of sheer terror, frantically trying to heave himself to safety in his decrepit wheelbarrow. Lincoln gracefully cleaved the cart in half, planting this amorphous blob to the floor. He withdrew his blade and held it against the fluffy warmaster's neck and innumerable amount of chins. Lincoln then recoiled in disgust as the greasy heap beneath his boot wept and begged pathetically for salvation.

In all of his godlike compassion, Lincoln chose to gift Iglesias one final opportunity to save his wretched life. "Answer this simple riddle and I shall let you live: what rhymes with _freedom?"_ He asked. _  
_

Gabriel Iglesias thought hard, probing deep within his mind but scrounging up no answers to the riddle. To the Biker Brethren however, there was no doubt to the answer of this straightforward puzzle. "...Shmreedom?" Gabriel Iglesias slobbered incoherently. Tensions are high when Garfield decides to bleach his pubic hair.

Lincoln slowly shook his head out of pity as he hearkened upon his words. "Wrong. The answer is _eagle rape,"_ Abraham Lincoln smiled. Without warning, millions of bald eagles poured from the heavens above, their razor sharp talons and beaks skewering Gabriel Iglesias until his flesh was devoured and his corpse was left fully unrecognizable.

Lincoln hurriedly rushed over to the mortally wounded Sonic. He placed his rugged hands atop the hedgehog's untrimmed chest and used his divine energy to send shockwaves of healing energy and patriotic blessings into his untarnished soul. Sonic promptly arose from his catatonic state pulsating with Americanesque vitality and spirit. His gaping flesh wound resealed itself, leaving behind only a manly scar in its place. Richard Nixon seemed particularly relieved that Sonic had survived his injuries.

Sonic flexed his throbbing muscles and vibrating member, perplexed to discover that he found himself feeling even more powerful than he had prior to his near-death experience. Michael Jordan chuckled warmly and placed his swarthy hand atop Sonic's shoulder, "What you're feeling right now is the _Gift of Washington,_ an innate ability all patriots are born with. When an American almost succumbs to a fatal wound and miraculously recovers, his strength multiplies tenfold!"

"Ya'll niggas remind me of a strip club; every time I come around, I always get my dick sucked," Sonic passionately quipped, and all of his patriotic brethren guffawed boisterously from his dope rhymes. The Biker Brethren then entered an elevator and rose to the second floor of Trotsky Tower, unaware of the terrifying group of foes that awaited them on level two...


	9. The Fusing of Garfield and Jordan

**THIS CHAPTER IS RATED 'M' BECAUSE IT CONTAINS URETHRAL SOUNDING, GENOCIDE, AND URETHRAL GENOCIDE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.**

The Biker Brethrens' boots noisily squeaked on the polished maple floors beneath them as they exited the elevator. The burly patriots had shuffled into a gleaming basketball court, the stage of the second level's arena. Michael Jordan smiled warmly, reminiscing about his glory days as a professional basketball player from before the Ameripocalypse began.

Jordan had in fact invented this honorable sport in his youth by tossing the severed heads of Commies he had slain into a bottomless basket for his own amusement. The current rules of this pastime remain relatively unchanged thousands of years later, including the sacrificial burning of a live hellhound before each game to appease George Washington.

Garfield's dime-sized nipples hardened in anticipation. He readied his chainsaw-nunchuks as five subhuman, hulking brutes clad in ragged basketball jerseys rose through an elevator positioned in the center of this empty stadium. Michael Jordan and his son knew of their dwimmer-crafty adversaries all too well, as they were the very same undead wraiths that purloined the souls of Charles Barkley and four other American warriors and imprisoned them in a basketball centuries ago.

"T-The Monstars! They're alive!" Charles Barkley whimpered in terror, running and cowering behind his father for protection. Once diminutive fucklings known as Nerdlucks, these creatures were mutated by the Archmage _Swackhammer_ into formidable demonic spirits bred to slay Lord Bugs Bunny and take control over all of the eastern galaxy.

If not for Michael Jordan's divine intervention and the assistance of the lesser-demonkin known as the Looney Tunes, the patriotverse could have fallen long before the first Communists stepped foot on American soil. Sonic's scheduling of recreational cannibalism on "Bring your Kids to Work" day proves to be a huge disaster.

Sonic unsheathed his blood stained guitar and impetuously charged forth. His body pulsated with a pious, patriotic aura as he ruthlessly hewed off the head of Nawt, the red Monstar. The surviving four brutes appeared visibly shaken, struggling to maintain their composure in the face of such holy American fuckery.

Michael Jordan obstructed his mahogany toned arms in front of the patriotic hedgehog before he could strike again. He smiled and spoke curtly, "Leave these baseborn honkies to me, my patriotic brethren. I have a score to settle."

"...Fine. But I get to cannibalize the fuck out of the next guys we fight! You know my motto: pull the trigger on every nigger!" Sonic chuckled cocksurely, nodding in approval at Jordan's Americanesque bravery. Air Jordan grinned craftily, reaching deep within the albino leopard pelt that he wore tied around his waist and removing an ancient bottle of caffeinated soda.

On a cursory glance, this plastic ampulla bore a great resemblance to the ancestral American drink of Mountain Dew™, but the blinding aura of light wreathing this vial of acidic liquid denoted otherwise. Abraham Lincoln and Richard Nixon both widened their eyes in astonishment, instantly recognizing this beverage of the gods.

"Behold mortals, the Fusion Dew™! Passed down by my American kin for countless centuries before me, it is foretold in legend that any two patriots who quaff from this holy Dew shall fuse, becoming one in flesh and mind. Get ready to jam, motherfuckers!" Michael Jordan guffawed. He promptly imbibed a small portion of this fluid and tossed the rest of the bottle to Garfield.

"I-I'm honored that you would choose me, laddy," The obese man-feline stammered in a state of disbelief. He paused for a moment before closing his eyes and removing the cap, taking a swig of his own from the divine Fusion Dew™. Everyone pretends to lose their invitations to Garfield's orgy for the seventh time in a row.

These two sweaty patriots were bathed in an all-encompassing light as the sacred Fusion Dew™ slid down their collective throats, transforming them into pale, luminous silhouettes as their molecules dispersed and reunited in a new shape. An unstoppable warrior born of patriotic fuckfury soon emerged from this glistening void, an American bearing the familiar faces of both Jordan and Garfield whilst at the same time resembling neither.

This newly formed patriot flexed his vein-festooned musculature and bare chest, beholding a brazen skinned American coated in a thin layer of wispy, orange fur that covered his entire body and loins. This pious warlord stroked his ashen muzzle with pride as he surveyed his flawless body. His new appearance struck primal fear into the hearts of the Monstars, sending them cowering in fear. Michael Jordan and Garfield had fused, becoming _Garjodan._

"If you can't slam with the best, jam with the rest," Garjordan hobnobbed brazenly and leapt hundreds of feet into the air with a single bound. He descended with his basketball, utterly disemboweling the Monstar known as Bupkus with a sweeping slam dunk. Garjordan emerged wholly unscathed, drenched in the acidic lifeblood of the purple behemoth. The three surviving Monstars threw themselves upon this merged American warrior, only to stand aghast to find that each of their savage blows and strikes were evaded effortlessly by Garjordan.

Wisely utilizing Garfield's prodigious girth, Garjordan gracefully bludgeoned the Monstar Blanko into a quivering pulp with his protruding gut. Before the final two hellbeasts had time to react, the American warlord leapt skyward and locked his firmly toned legs around the head of the green Monstar, shattering all of the bones in his neck with a furious pelvic thrust. Garjordan purposely saved the baleful wraith known as Pound for last, the source of much of his patriotic ire for having absorbed the divine strength of Charles Barkley during the great Space Jam.

A self-satisfied simper formed on Garjordan's lips. He unsheathed his famed chainsaw-nunchuks and began to swing wildly, carving Pound to shreds and mercilessly hewing all of his gnarled limbs asunder in one fell swoop.

In Garjordan's final act of Americanesque fury, he utterly decimated the fresh carrion of the Monstars with a single patriotic energy wave. Garjordan exhaled deeply, shattering the bonds of this pietistic fusion between them and yet again becoming two separate patriotic lifeforms.

The fearless members of the Biker Brethren bivouacked in this basketball court as as night fell. All seven of them sat shirtless around an indoor campfire, drunkenly recounting the tales of their patriotic heroism to pass the time.

Sonic slowly began to feel like he could let his guard down around these sweaty bikers, feeling a sense of brotherhood and communion previously unknown to him. The hedgehog curtly nodded his head in thanks as Anne Frank passed him a hookah pipe. Sonic listened intently, taking a toke from the pipe as Abraham Lincoln regaled his compatriots with the legendary tales of America from before the Communists invaded.

After hours of pious, drunken, and minimally-clothed antics, the patriots drifted off into sleep. Save for Sonic and Michael Jordan, who chose to take the first shift standing guard. "Sonic…" Michael Jordan began to speak, pausing for a moment in hesitation.

He lowered his gaze and continued, "I've come to think of you as the brother I've never had in many ways, O' American hedgehog. Ever since Madoka passed, you're the first person to give me even the faintest hope that the patriotic lifestyle I've chosen to live hasn't been totally for naught. To be honest, you've given me the will to keep on living. This is why I have to ask you a request of a personal nature, my comrade."

Sonic slowly bowed his head in silence, astounded and honored that the divine son of Lincoln showed so much faith in his ability. "I don't believe I'll be around forever, Sonic. The path I walk is undoubtedly a dangerous one, and with each puissant foe we stand against I can't help feeling more and more out of my league. Forsooth, without the Fusion Dew™, I have my doubts if I could have truly slain the Monstars this day. That's why I must this ask of you: if any foes on the road ahead were to take my life, I want you to take care of my dear son, Charles Barkley," Jordan confessed and rested his swarthy hand atop Sonic's shoulder.

"...Geez nigga, I don't know anything about kids. The only thing I truly understand in this fucked up world is slaying Communists," Sonic chuckled forcefully. He raised his head, nervously meeting Jordan's unwavering gaze.

Jordan humbly fell upon his knees and took Sonic's hands into his own. "Charles Barkley is the only thing left in this world that I truly care about, Sonic. Please, I beg of you to honor this request!" He begged.

"Aight nigga, don't get started with the water works n' shit. I'll take care of your boy if it ever comes down to that. Not saying that it ever will. But in exchange, you've gotta give me some of the dope ass Fusion Dew™!" Sonic guffawed and helped Michael Jordan to his feet. An intervention is held when Garfield's massive collection of loli hentai is discovered.


	10. Sonic the Hedgehog Rocks the Fuck Out

**SUGGESTED LISTENING: "TRUE BLACKNESS" BY SATANIC WARMASTER**

After a night of well-earned hyperslumber and saintly substance abuse, the Biker Brethren hesitantly trod into the final level of Trotsky Tower. Placed in the center of this chamber rested a gleaming altar that held an electric guitar hewn from polished obsidian that was emblazoned with ancient patriotic runes. Surely, this was the Communist-Slayer of legend.

Abraham Lincoln closely inspected an ancient tapestry hanging from the wall, a document written in hellbeast blood in a language long forgotten by modern Americans. Garfield begins inserting garbled Japanese phrases into his everyday speech, often proclaiming that lasagna is "kawaii."

"The tapestry states that our final challenge is one of a mental nature, rather than physical," Abraham Lincoln expounded in a hushed tone, garnering the attention of his fellow bikers. He continued, "The divine Communist-Slayer is protected by an ancient hex, you see. We shall all receive a great mental temptation upon wielding this pious instrument as our greatest desires shall be made corporeal. Only those who can resist these sinful visions shall be crowned worthy enough to command its almighty power."

Michael Jordan courageously removed this guitar from its resting place. He rubbed his rugged hands atop its glistening surface and passed it to each of his fellow compatriots for their own inspection. _"L-Lasagna!_ There's pasta everywhere, as far as the eye can see! Spaghetti, cavatappi, ditalini, macaroni, rigatoni, niggeroni!" Garfield bellowed in astonishment, lustfully frothing from the mouth as the false visions of the Communist-Slayer began to take form in his feeble mind.

The portly man-cat quickly relented to his carnal desires. Garfield slobbered profusely and voraciously devoured the mummified remains of a dead Communist with the erroneous belief that it was lasagna. Sonic turned up his nose in disgust, truly coming to understand the strength of the Communist-Slayer. The other bikers soon succumbed to their own puissant hallucinations, save for Sonic. The American hedgehog was perplexed as to how these false visions had yet to affect him despite clutching the Communist-Slayer in his own two hands.

Michael Jordan tenderly nuzzled against Madoka's neck. He ran his swarthy fingers through her pink hair as the two passionately locked lips, blissfully unaware that his tragically deceased wife was naught but a mere illusion. Sonic vigorously shook Air Jordan and slapped him an innumerable amount of times with his artificial gun-cock. To the hedgehog's dismay, he was unable to break this righteous baller out of his dreamlike trance.

"Don't waste your energy, cracker killer. The only way to render this dwimmercraft inert is to rock the fuck out and play a pious black metal riff on the Communist-Slayer!" Richard Nixon grumbled throatily. Curiously, he too was seemingly unaffected by the illusions just as Sonic was. The five entranced patriots writhed upon the floor in agony as their visions grew in intensity and depravity, leaving Sonic no choice but to heed the cryptic advice of Nixon.

The sweaty hedgehog took the legendary Communist-Slayer into his own two hands and channeled all of the divine fuckrage of his patriotic lineage into a heavenly song that transcended the astral barriers of time and space, calling out in the collective minds of all American warriors who fearlessly walk in the grace of Washington. Richard Nixon unsheathed his own guitar, joining Sonic in this righteous song of American might.

"Fellow patriots, lend me your ear

Light a blunt and crack open a cold beer

There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief

So listen close now, my friends

I'm gonna make this tune brief...

 _Freedom is my lady!_

She shines red, blue, and white.

 _Freedom is my lady!_

Thinkin' about her is makin' my jeans tight.

 _Freedom is my lady!_

She's my sweet patriotic baby

 _Freedom is my lady!_

When it comes to lovin', it's yes or no, never maybe

 _Freedom is my lady!_

She's sweet like Mountain Dew™ in ice

 _Freedom is my lady!_

She's gonna take me to paradise!"

Abraham Lincoln arose first from the illusion, and was quickly followed by Michael Jordan and the other Biker Brethren. Sonic shakily fell to his knees, drenched in sweat and urine and wholly drained from the almighty power of George Washington's guitar. Honest Abe ran to tend to the exhausted hedgehog, rendered completely speechless that this American warrior could wield the Communist-Slayer with such ease and immaculate skill.

"Expertly done, my star-spangled brother! If you don't mind my asking, how did you manage to overcome your carnal desires and wield the ancestral weapon of my great grandfather?" Abraham Lincoln inquired as he utilized his otherworldly powers to restore Sonic to full strength. "Well nigga, thing is, I didn't have any kind of gay-ass vision," Sonic flatly admitted, shocking Honest Abe and the Biker Brethren.

"I-Incredible brother, you are truly a patriot among patriots! To have a mind so prodigiously empty of all inhibitions or sinful temptations, it's almost unheard of! It's almost as if your only desire in life is slaying Communists!" Michael Jordan warmly praised. The bikers shared a pint of ale with the American hedgehog, laughing thunderously into the starless night. Garfield can't stop vomiting up the corpse he devoured.

These drunken festivities were interrupted when a Communist missile homed in on Trotsky Tower. Its deadly warhead detonated on impact, demolishing almost half of this fortified installation in one blow. Sonic yanked a large piece of shrapnel out of his dick and gazed down from the zenith of the ruined tower, shocked to see a host of millions of heavily armed Marxist soldiers lying in wait.

Leading this accursed task force secure aboard his battleship stood the corrupted warlord _Joseph Stalin_ , accompanied by the depraved and mentally unhinged lieutenant _Adam Sandler_ and the newly rebuilt mercenary who went by the name of _Cyborg Pooh._

With the Communist-Slayer now in hand, the greatest battle for the Biker Brethren was about to begin...


	11. The Battle for the Americaverse Begins

**NOW ACCEPTING FAN CHARACTER SUBMISSIONS FOR THIS STORY. BUT ONLY FOR CHARACTERS THAT HAPPEN TO BE NAMED "ADAM SANDLER"**

Abraham Lincoln let out a throaty war cry that echoed throughout the land. He raised his guitar to the heavens above, rallying his patriotic brethren to war.

"Arise and hear me, my patriotic kinsmen! The hour has come that we shall stand together as one and rage against the light, driving the sword of war straight into the bowels of hell itself in the name of Washington and every American before us! We may fall in battle this day, but we shall fall glazed in the crimson blood of our enemy! Guitars shall be shaken, motorcycles shall be splintered! Our patriotic spirit shall be a blinding light in the face of every sodomous foe who dares to stand in our way, that's how _AMERICA_ rolls! War is the feast of our armada, so ride now! Our freedom is like diarrhea, it never stops!" Honest Abe cried out into the gloaming sky. Righteous tears gushed from his eyes as he fearlessly rode into battle despite the insurmountable odds stacked against his victory.

Sonic welled up with astral fuckrage the likes he had never felt before. His brazen musculature pulsated with patriotic spirit as he leapt atop his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle and drove into battle alongside Lincoln. "Seven weary Americans against a host of ten million doughty Communist warriors, eh? Well, at least if I perish, I shall have spent my final moments in this world with you, my son," Michael Jordan spoke with a curt chuckle, warmly embracing Charles Barkley. Suddenly, Jordan reared back his fist and rendered Barkley unconscious with a swift slam dunk to the collar bone.

"Sleep well, my son. If we are to fall in battle this day, _you_ are the Americaverse's last hope," Jordan whispered to himself as he caught his son on descent, resting him upon the ashen ground and riding off atop his Harley. Anne Frank insists that Kevin James is the greatest comedic mind of our time.

Abraham Lincoln flailed his chainsaw-guitar wildly whilst atop his motorcycle, lopping off the heads of hundreds of Communist soldiers. His mouth was agape, opened wide to quaff from the torrential downpour of Marxist blood raining from the sky.

The artificial human Anne Frank transmogrified both of her mechanical arms into machine guns and roared like the most savage of alpha-hellhounds into the night. She then mowed down thousands of these sodomites with the full force of her automatic firearms with her head thrashing all the while. Sonic ruthlessly skewered thousands of these philistines with his furious pelvic thrusting, destroying several lesser galaxies in the process from the thunderous shockwaves produced by his patriotic loins.

"Mmm, such delicious patriots out there! Meaty and chewy, yes! So sweaty, so tender and gooey when I devour their sodomized flesh! Ooh, I must have it! I can't stand here any more master, I can't! It's been so long since I've made sweet love to American fuckboys ... _I NEED IT!"_ Adam Sandler slobbered and burbled incoherently. He foamed profusely from the mouth and broke free of the leash that bound him, cumbrously dashing on all-fours onto the raging battlefield.

Adam Sandler ferociously threw himself atop Garfield and dug his rotting fangs into the dumpy feline's flesh, rending his stylish smock to shreds as he prepared to feast. Despite his gangly, anemic appearance, Adam Sandler showcased unparalleled puissance in his struggle with Garfield, rivaling even the strongest of feudal hell-wraiths in strength and depravity.

Adam Sandler licked his lips lustfully, using Garfield's lifeblood as lube as he prepared to deal a fatal blow to this wounded patriot. He cracked a sadistic grin, "Sa da tay! Mmm, so delicious and _fat!_ Star-spangled, scrumptious and tasty! Full of lasagna, finger lickin' good!"

"I'm not fat, I'm full of _FREEDOM!"_ Garfield roared with righteous fury. He summoned all of his latent strength and Americanesque ferocity to carve the fabric of reality itself asunder, rending open a portal to the fiery depths of hell itself. The obese man-cat mercilessly bludgeoned Sandler into a quivering pulp with his saintly girth and hoisted him skyward by the neck. He drew back his arm, tossing this hollering fucklord into the flaming pits of the underworld.

Sonic withdrew his flesh-choked blade from the neck of a Communist velociraptor. He struggled to maintain consciousness as he shakily charged back into the fray. "Rail-splitter, catch!" Sonic rasped wearily, pitching Lincoln a silver flask containing the last remaining drops of the divine Fusion Dew™.

This bottle of acidic liquid was swiftly intercepted by the upgraded warmaster now known as Cyborg Pooh. He cackled as he hovered just out of reach above the barren battlefield, utilizing his newly installed rocket thrusters.

"Looking for this, O' patriotic warlord? _Silly old fagslave!"_ Winnie the Pooh jeered balefully, pouring the last of the Fusion Dew™ onto the ashen ground beneath, effectively destroying the Biker Brethren's final trump card.


	12. The Tao of Pooh

**NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT "SHIP" THE CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY. ESPECIALLY SONIC AND MICHAEL JORDAN. SUCH IS A PROFOUNDLY UNHOLY ACT.**

 _"...And then I gave her the Cleveland steamer!" Sonic drunkenly guffawed, celebrating the slaying of the foul Monstars with his fellow compatriot, Michael Jordan. Air Jordan stared contently upon the rising sun and exhaled deeply as his star-spangled brother regaled him with the tales of the sodomous exploits of his youth._

 _"You know I'm not good with words n' shit, I like to let my genocide speak for me. I've gotta say, out of everyone that I've met in this past month, you're the one that I want to kill the least," Sonic complimented tenderly as he rolled another joint and handed it to Jordan._

 _"Same to you, my dear brother in arms," Michael Jordan smiled warmly and closed his eyes, blowing incredible smoke rings from his joint. Sonic's interest was piqued as he noticed Jordan dribbling a basketball made of machine guns that shone bright in the sunrise with a patriotic aura. Garfield panics after losing the key to his chastity device. Again._

 _"Like it, eh? It's an ancient heirloom passed down in the Lincoln family, originally belonging to the lesser god Benjamin Franklin. That is, before he was slain by Mercenary Pooh. It's known as Slamzor in the common tongue, and it is prophesied that a slam dunk using this divine ball can set off a powerful blast strong enough to destroy an entire continent! I try not to use it, if possible," Air Jordan explained. However, many of his carefully crafted words flew over Sonic's head._

"What is this, nighttime in Nigeria? Look at all of these foolish niggers!" Winnie the Pooh boomed with thunderous laughter over the demise of the Fusion Dew™. He smirked, cockily beckoning Sonic forth with his outstretched digits. Sonic stood alone and unflinching in this barren wasteland of tension. The hedgehog burgeoned forth, coming to fearlessly stare down the subhuman mercenary before him.

"My heavenly lords Karl Marx and Joseph Stalin have graciously blessed me with this invincible cyborg body! It was given to me so that I may finally get my revenge against any unwashed shitlord or Jerry's Kids who so foolishly dared to defy me in this past! Tell me, stars and stripes: in the face of such raw Communist might, do you really think you can defeat me?" Pooh guffawed smugly as he met the unwavering gaze of his significantly taller opponent.

This blue fecund of patriotic hellrage smirked, thoroughly unimpressed. He snarled, "I'm not going to defeat you, I'm going to _kill_ you. You goddamned, assraging, curve-peeling, booger-hooking, niggerfurious guinea fuck!"

Sonic's leather skin boots swiftly collided with Winnie the Pooh's firm muscled abdomen, caving in his stomach and causing a freshet of crimson blood to spew from this ill-bred mercenary's mouth. The hedgehog continued by drawing back his fists and gracefully pummeling his churlish foe into submission.

He forced Pooh's silver tongue to silence with each harmonious hack and slash from the Communist-Slayer, utterly ravaging the fuck out of him. Sonic effortlessly shattered all of Pooh's ribs with a savage pelvic thrust, and his gun-dick pierced into this golden furred mercenary's hide like a flurry of knives. He then hoisted Pooh skyward by his nostrils and repeatedly slammed him face-first into the earth. Anne Frank refuses to listen to any kind of music that isn't Norwegian black metal.

"Y-You goddamn baka gaijin!" Winnie the Pooh cried out hysterically. He shakily rose to his feet, wiped away the stream of blood dribbling down his chin, and continued, "There's no way some lowly American fuck freak like you could best me! My upgraded body was supposed to be completely unstoppable, an immortal vessel befitting of the Communist super elite!"

"That's where you're wrong, you New Jersey meathook," A malignant, unearthly voice boomed from beyond the veil of the living, echoing from Karl Marx's testament to everlasting damnation and cruelty: the dark Pestilence-Lord known as _Joseph Stalin._

Every Communist legionnaire fell upon their faces in prostration from the sheer feeling of dread that accompanied this torturer of the restless dead. Stalin loomed menacingly over the battlefield, entombed in his Life Fiber armor forged from the endless suffering of Americans and emblazoned with the tears of uncoveted virgins.

He shot Pooh a murderous glare and spoke, "My lord Karl Marx wants you to live a long, miserable, and tortured existence. He wants you to live for time eternal surrounded by those who despise you, forever marred with the shame of failing our Communist lord, never knowing the sweet release of death. That is your fate, Pooh. You are _nothing_ to us."

Winnie the Pooh trembled and fell to his knees. His blood boiled with murderous, Communist hellrage as he was carelessly cast aside like the most inbred of hellhounds by those of whom he previously worshiped unquestioningly. "I want to see this full power of yours, you genderfluid niggerkin," Joseph Stalin chuckled in a condescending manner.

This confounder of the living used his godless alchemy to bring into existence another flask of the holy Fusion Dew™. Stalin outstretched his arms, offering the vial to the bikers. Abraham Lincoln tarried for a brief moment before swiping this plastic ampulla from Stalin and downing its contents in one, hearty gulp. A chorus of angels from the heavens above cried out as hedgehog and president merged and became one, creating an unstoppable warlord known as _Sonlincoln the Hedgehog._

"A house divided against itself is still better than you and your goddamn Communism!" Sonlincoln fearlessly hobnobbed in a low voice. He straightened his stovepipe hat and ran his wizened digits through his feathery quills, admiring his new body.

Michael Jordan quaked with anticipation. He stood in awe of Sonlincoln's godlike puissance and faultless patriotic spirit, a power endlessly superior to his own merging with Garfield. Charles Barkley is shocked to learn that Barack Obama is his identical twin.

This warlord of Americanesque shitfury unsheathed the Communist-Slayer and lunged at Stalin, slicing wildly away at his baleful opponent and carving much of his armor to shreds. Sonlincoln then firmly gripped Stalin's face with his sweaty palms and planted his body with unimaginable strength into the earth beneath him.

Before this besotted Marxist hell-lord had any time to counter, Sonlincoln began mercilessly pummeling Stalin's face even deeper into the dirt. The shockwaves of these brutal attacks were so powerful that their divine ferocity could only be compared to deflowering ten billion virgin grizzly bears simultaneously; an undeniably American feat.

The American warmaster raised Stalin's battered body upwards as he finished his attack. He grinned with a bloodthirsty smile, finishing his patriotic onslaught by shooting him at point-blank range in the heart with his machine gun, unloading every last bullet into his rended flesh.

"There go the gun click, nine-one-one shit. All over some dumb shit, ain't that some shit? _He's fuckin' dead,"_ Sonlincoln curtly chuckled and lowered his head, dissolving his being and splitting apart into his original two halves. Honest Abe was shaken to his very core as he heard the devastated earth behind him begin to faintly shuffle. The president stood aghast as Joseph Stalin arose from the debris, completely unscathed save for his tattered robes.

"Well, that was it? I can't say I'm particularly impressed by this full strength of yours, Abe. And to think, the rest of your petty rabble are even _weaker._ Karl Marx certainly wasn't wrong about you, brother..." Stalin orated in an eerily calm tone. He charged forth and drew back his leg, effortlessly knocking the demigod Abraham Lincoln unconscious with a swift roundhouse kick to the skull.

Garfield ferociously hurled himself upon Joseph Stalin. However, he could only hold his own against this terrible foe born of Communism for a few brief moments before having both of his legs crushed by a swift chop to the knees. Sonic and the rest of his fellow compatriots ran to duel with Stalin and avenge their fallen allies. But like Garfield, they could barely keep up with this demonic warlord's unutterable puissance.

Michael Jordan watched the ensuing battle from the sidelines, truly realizing the hopelessness of standing up to such an almighty foe. Air Jordan clutched the high-basketball _Slamzor_ in his swarthy hands and forcefully chuckled, knowing of only one option to slay Stalin and this Communist host of millions.

"I always knew there would come a day when this patriotic brotherhood of ours would be totally outclassed, but I could have never predicted so soon. I've thought long and hard on this, and any way you dribble it there's only one way that you six will escape to live another day. Forgive me, my friends..." Michael Jordan smiled tenderly.

He confidently dribbled Slamzor as he turned to stare down the ill-bred Communist warlord afore him. "I know that look. Laddy, _surely you aren't planning to...?"_ Garfield rasped cumbrously, knowing all too well that no mere mortal could survive a heavenly slam dunk from the divine Slamzor. It was suicide to even attempt such a thing.

"Don't forget your promise, Sonic. Take good care of Charles Barkley, and tell him that I'm sorry. I'm not going to make it back this time," Jordan grinned mirthlessly. In an instant, he channeled the full extent of his fuckmurderous hellfury into his fingertips. He soared into the air with Slamzor gripped tightly at the fag end of his outstretched arms, poised to strike.

 _"MICHAEL JORDAN!"_ Sonic cried out in vain. Righteous tears welled up in his eyes as his patriotic brother fatefully descended upon Joseph Stalin, instantly incinerating them both in an explosion that consumed everything for miles.

* * *

 _"I've missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I've been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that... that is why I succeed. I have to go prepare, Sonic. After all, we still have one more challenge to face in this accursed tower before reaching the Communist-Slayer. Thank you O' patriotic hedgehog, for everything..." Michael Jordan chuckled with a tremulous smile, waving goodbye to Sonic one, final time._

The battlefield in which these valiant patriots fought had been totally obliterated, leaving in its stead but a few small landmasses scattered amongst a raging ocean of flotsam and jetsam. The surviving Biker Brethren had washed ashore and were spending the time combing through the wreckage. They found no signs of surviving Communists, save for one Mercenary Pooh.

Sonic knelt down upon the blood stained sand, grieving for his fallen ally. "I... I should have killed Stalin when I had the chance. Michael Jordan would still be here if I had only been stronger. This is all my fault," The hedgehog rasped bitterly.

Lincoln slowly shook his head and sat down next to him. "Sonic, don't do this to yourself…" He spoke in a low, hoarse voice.

"If I had only wrung out that goddamn Communist's life with my own two hands, if I wasn't so damn weak..." The hedgehog continued, ignoring Lincoln's interjection.

"What's done is done. It wasn't your fault," Lincoln tried to console his American brother. Despite his calm demeanor, it was perfectly clear that he too was mourning the loss of his son.

Sonic buried his face in the palm of his hands and sighed, "I-I know it wasn't. What's done is done. I couldn't have changed anything. Not a damn thing. _And that's what's killing me."_


	13. I Think, Therefore I Slam

**NOTICE: I HAVE STOPPED TAKING ALL OF MY BRAIN MEDICATION. IT PREVENTS ME FROM WRITING FANFICTION ABOUT SONIC THE HEDGEHOG.**

Steve Urkel frantically dashed through the barren streets of the planet New Jersey Omega. Urkel was flanked on all sides by decaying heaps of brutalized American corpses, all carelessly stacked like mighty faggots of wood and left to rot in the heat of this remote world's twin suns.

The patriot winced with pain as the rudimentary binding tied around his mahogany abs unraveled, baring the gaping impalement wound he had been dealt in his desperate attempt to escape the godless terror that had stricken this once idyllic American planetoid. In but a few short hours, this lush world's population had been completely and wholly eradicated by an ancient horror, a fell power from a long forgotten age.

Steve Urkel unsteadily readied his machine gun and shot wildly into the benighted sky, emptying every last bullet with the hope of wounding the unutterable, faceless monstrosity that was relentlessly stalking him as his prey. Urkel was paralyzed by a feeling of deep, primal fear as a swarthy, shapeless, and ever-sinister entity emerged from the endless blackness walled around him.

A noisome cackle erupted from a mouth unseen, signalling the arrival of the dreaded one. This malignant render of all living flesh hoisted Steve Urkel skyward by the neck. He parted his lips, speaking aloud in a putrid voice that could shatter the sanity of even the most fortified of patriotic minds, _"Tell me, American scum: where is the one known as Richard Nixon?"_

His quivering prey was far too mortified to answer. This morbid harbinger of the Ameripocalypse savagely crushed Steve Urkel's turkey neck in his blood stained hands and dropped this lissom fuckling to the cloven pavement beneath. He then turned his back to the American, dissipating into thin air.

 _"Did...did I do that?"_ Steve Urkel rasped with his dying breath, slain by the Arc Demon-Lord known in the common tongue as _**Adolf Hitler**._

"May George Washington-sama welcome you into the heavenly White House with open arms, may every American fallen in battle before you angelically cry out the hallowed name of Michael Jordan with love and honor, and may you ascend to your rightful place in the oval office and live as a patriot among patriots for time eternal. Today we lay to rest a great man: an American, a warrior, a basketball player, a father, and to all of us, a friend," Garfield orated in a broken voice. He wiped the tears from his wizened face, watching as the pious warlord Michael Jordan was laid to rest.

Honest Abe folded his son's charred basketball jersey and rested it atop his coffin hewn from Communist bones. He sighed, "No man, be they American or Communist, should have to know the pain of burying their own child..."

"I... I was always afraid of becoming a true American like Jordan. I fearlessly cannibalized the fuck out of Communists, but the thought of having the fate of the entire Americaverse in my hands? That... that scared the shit out of me. It still does. How could you ever be someone that great? That selfless? That patriotic? Well, I guess I've learned you can only try. Smell ya later, Michael Jordan," Sonic choked back his tears as he recited his final eulogy.

Sonic knelt down and embraced the grieving Charles Barkley as Air Jordan's coffin was sent out to sea. As was American tradition for time immemorial, his casket was set ablaze like a mighty squib by his patriotic brethren. In his free time, Winnie the Pooh dabbles with injecting honey straight into his veins.

Sonic righteously saluted his fallen comrade as hundreds of bald eagles poured from the heavens above, devouring Jordan's flaming corpse and completing the heavenly rite of ascension. Such is a holy act. "It's going to be okay, my black son. I'll take care of you now," Sonic smiled warmly, wiping the tears from Charles Barkley's eyes.

"None of what happened today adds up," Abraham Lincoln murmured under his breath. He paced around the island, passionately caressing the ashen hairs upon his chin as he found himself lost in pious thought and deep introspection.

"There's no way those inbred Communist tosspots could have discovered our location, we told no soul about our mission to reclaim the hallowed Communist-Slayer! How did Karl Marx track us here?" He thought out loud. Garfield proudly recounts the story of how he viciously slew Heathcliff and made a stylish suit from his skin.

A sickening laughter gurgled from Mercenary Pooh's putrid lips as he overheard the Biker Brethrens' musings. He shuffled in the incommodious chains that bound him to fearlessly stare down the arc-demigod Honest Abe. He grinned, "Haven't you figured it out yet, stars and stripes? Silly old dune coon. One of the shit-flinging cucks among you aren't who they claim. The dark lord Karl Marx has an _informant planted in the Biker Brethren!"_

"Silence thy serpentine tongue, ye' besotted fuckthain! Choke upon thy own poison words, my patriotic kinsmen have suffered enough this night. To slay the fuck out of you where you stand would be just!" Abraham Lincoln threatened. He hovered his serrated katana over Pooh's neck and cavalcade of chins, preparing to cleave it off in one fell swoop.

Sonic swiftly intercepted Lincoln's sword before it could claim Pooh's miserable life, clasping the blade between his index and middle fingers and pushing it away. He shook his head, "I'm tired of weak ass niggas whinin' over pussy that don't belong to them, fuck is wrong with them? Hate to say it rail-splitter, but that hollerin' nignoramus has a point. Willingly or otherwise, someone gave up our whereabouts n' shit. And I'm willing to bet it was that demi-niggerqueer, otherkin faggotmeister Richard Nixon."

"Why are we so quick to hearken upon the words of this baseborn honkey? What assurances can he give us that he is telling the truth? I concur with Lincoln, he's too dangerous to keep alive. Furthermore, I am not a crook, and I am especially not a faggot!" Richard Nixon sweatily grumbled in his usual sour demeanor.

A smug simper formed upon Pooh's blood drenched lips. He chuckled, realizing he had ensnared the Biker Brethren in a position where they had no choice but to spare his wretched existence for at least a short while longer, "Unfortunately I never had the security clearance to learn _exactly_ who the traitor among your petty rabble was. That intel was reserved only for Marx and his inner circle. However, I shall divulge upon you the true location of Karl Marx's lair that has eluded your people for so many centuries if you spare me. Under one condition, of course… you have to let me join the Biker Brethren."

Karl Marx's anemic, scar-covered face contorted with fear as he gazed upon the lower realms of the Americaverse through his crystal basketball. He recoiled with horror, witnessing Adolf Hitler's unparalleled savagery first-hand on New Jersey's third planetoid. "You called for me, _daddy?"_ A young ivory haired woman swaddled in a ornate, gold hemmed black dress cheerily called out. She jauntily skipped into the throne room of this demonic warlord, cheerily humming the lyrics to _The Internationale._

Karl Marx tarried for a brief moment to wipe the beads of sweat and urine trickling from his forehead, rendered speechless from the godless horrors committed by Hitler that even the most devout Marxist sword-thains would find detestable. "Ah, yes, _Taylor Swift!_ I have a very important task for you, a mission that your late sibling Adam Sandler has already failed me in. The American demigod known as Abraham Lincoln has tested my patience for quite some time, centuries to be truthful. I want you to bring me his severed head, my dear," He said.

"Wow daddy, I get to fight Honest Abe? I can't wait to cut open his gut and eat his delicious entrails!" Taylor Swift giggled perkily in her childlike falsetto. Despite her innocent appearance, she seemed all too thrilled at the opportunity to commit mass genocide against the divine children of Washington.

After his daughter's departure, the great weaver of lies took another glimpse into his soothsaying artifact to behold the atrocities wrought by this great and ancient foe. He shuddered with fear, "I haven't felt a dark puissance such as this for millennia. This shouldn't be possible, how did _he_ return to the world of the living? If this is allowed to continue, every living creature, American and Communist, shall surely meet their end!"

 _In time, the sea will freeze over_

 _In time, guitars will cease their rock_

 _In time, the sleepless dead will rise_

 _In time, motorcycles will stop their driving_

 _In time, the soil will be drenched with American blood_

 _Adolf Hitler is coming. Hell will be exposed._

 _The second Ameripocalypse is about to begin..._


	14. Episode of Richard Nixon

" **Communism isn't sleeping; it is, as always, plotting, scheming, working, fighting..."**

 **\- Richard Nixon, the 50,000th U.S. President**

 _The year is 2025, 21 yahrens after the beginning of the second Ameripocalypse. The archdaemon Adolf Hitler has single-handedly conquered the Americaverse and all other patriotic star systems in the galaxy. The American and Communist people alike are all but extinct, massacred by the billions by Hitler to quench his insatiable, undying thirst for blood and godless savagery._

 _The Americaverse has become a barren wasteland incapable of supporting life, its beauty marred by the father of lies and his endless depravity. However, not all lifeforms have been wiped out. The prideful feline known as Garfield has taken up the mantle of his slain kinsmen, raising an orphaned child and training this young lad to one day smite Adolf Hitler and avenge the Biker Brethren._

 _The name of this deitistic child that would soon decide the shape of things to come was Richard Milhous Nixon, the legendary patriot-incarnate. This is his story…_

In the dark times following the post-Ameripocalypse, the rotund warrior known as Garfield began to love and care for Richard Nixon as his own, never revealing to the child the full truth of his heritage. Richard Nixon suckled on Garfield's teats in his infancy and for many years afterwards, and even as a child this divine son of Washington showcased unparalleled puissance and patriotism just as his biological father once had. While stranded in hell, Adam Sandler becomes close friends with Barack Obama.

"Don't be afraid, Richard Nixon-kun. Show me what you've learned!" Garfield warmly challenged his adoptive son. He exhaled deeply and playfully beckoning him forth with an outstretched finger. The young man smirked, accepting his challenge. Nixon entered into an unbalanced fighting stance and hurled himself towards Garfield, barraging this portly man-beast hybrid with an unutterable amount of dexterous strikes and jabs.

The orange furred feline effortlessly blocked all of Tricky Dick's attacks using nothing but his index finger. He tauntingly used his free hand to consume a slice of lasagna and laughed. "You think too much, laddy! Let your attacks flow, you're getting too caught up in the planning. After all, Hitler won't be nearly this merciful!" Garfield lectured during the heat of the fight. He then caught Nixon's firm muscled leg on descent and used it to slam him face-first into the dirt.

Garfield helped his son rise to his feet with a smile. However, not soon after the two collapsed onto the grass from exhaustion and roared with thunderous, Americanesque laughter. After an afternoon of vigorous and minimally clothed combat exercise, Garfield and his beloved son retired to their humble lodgings situated in the abandoned ruins of the planet Washington #7, long forsaken ancestral homeworld of the Founding Fathers and the former base of the Biker Brethren.

Garfield trod lightly into his private study. He flipped through a tattered scrapbook adorned with various photographs of himself and his American brothers standing side by side, gloriously drenched in the lifeblood of their sodomous enemies. "Dad, you're always looking through that book, but there's one thing you've never told me: who are all of those crackers?" Richard Nixon inquired in a hushed tone, startling his father with his presence.

"Aye, laddy. I suppose you're old enough to finally learn about them, the _Biker Brethren._ Great defenders of America we were in a different age, there was no Communist fucklord or depraved social justice warrior we could not slay!" Garfield tenderly recounted, reminiscing about the glorious days of his youth when he was but only a few thousands years of age.

He sighed and lowered his gaze, "...But everything changed when Hitler returned. We had the holiest of intentions, but in the end the Biker Brethren were greatly responsible for the ruin we live in today. Abe Lincoln, Sonic, Charles Barkley, Michael Jordan, and all the others were all viciously slain by that accursed Führer. Today, I am the sole survivor who carries on their great legacy."

"So, that's it then. Dayum nigga, that's rough," Richard Nixon impetuously heckled with a half grin, thoroughly amusing his father and reminding him of a certain patriot with a similar lack of tact.

Garfield's sphincter clenched with horror as the lights upon his subdermal wrist communicator began to shine in dazzling hues of red, white, and blue. A sense of foreboding and primal fear enveloped this niggardly feline's very being. Garfield was all too familiar with the meaning behind this distress signal, "H-Hitler... _he's attacking the planet…"_

Great shock waves rocked the earth to its core as the faceless obscenity against all things holy tore this feeble planetoid to shreds with his godlike strength. A heavily armed host of American warlords roared with fuckfurious patriotrage and charged into the gloaming night, fearlessly unloading the full forces of their machine guns upon this unutterable abomination.

Thousands of bullets fell limply to the ground, and despite each finding their mark upon his gangrenous skin, the Führer stood completely unflinching and unscathed. A sardonic grin formed upon Hitler's putrescent face in response. In that instant, the entire throng of five hundred Americans that stood before him were effortlessly skewered and savagely hewn asunder with but a weak flick of the Nazi's wrist. Charles Barkley's karaoke night is a huge failure.

"Nixon, I want you to stay inside, no matter what you see or hear out there! I'm going to handle this monster myself," Garfield bleated in a shaky voice. He rested his quivering hands upon Nixon's shoulders and tenderly embraced his adoptive son, knowing in his heart that there was no way he could survive this fight.

Garfield felt helpless, burdened with the knowledge that all he could do for the ones he loved was buy time for but a few brief moments. Armed and ready to fight, the orange feline daringly charged into the smoking battlefield afore him. He then choked back the urge to vomit as he eyed the godless atrocities Hitler had committed against his American kinsmen.

Adolf Hitler furrowed his brow and dropped the corpse of Steve Harvey that he had been feeding upon. "I remember you. The last time we crossed paths, I slew all of your pathetic friends and you chose to cowardly flee and save your own hide when you could have helped them. This time, you're not getting away," Adolf maundered in an eerily placid tone, casually swaggering towards his orange furred challenger. Many hard questions are raised when Garfield's massive collection of female undergarments is discovered.

The prideful feline warrior hung his head in shame in response. _"_ It's true. When my patriotic comrades needed me the most, I faltered and hardened my heart and rectum towards their plight. I've been trying to atone for my great crimes against Washington-sama for the past twenty years of my life. Once I smite you, my blameless kinsmen shall finally rest in peace!" Garfield brazenly articulated. He tore his habergeon asunder, baring his chest as he unsheathed his chainsaw-nunchuks.

Garfield's untrimmed abs pulsated with a blinding patriotic aura. His muscles and loins throbbed and began to swell several times larger than their original size, growing at an astounding rate. He directed his gaze towards Hitler and smirked, "Watch closely, baka gaijin. For years I've tirelessly prepared for this day, training in the hopes of finding a way to ascend beyond my limitations as a mere American and become something even stronger. It's time for the super feline _Garzooka_ to whoop some Nazi ass!"

Garzooka winced as his bones shattered and reformed. His knees trembled as his body rose in height, coming to tower over his churlish adversary. Even after the bulk of his transformation, his musculature continued to tumefy and palpitate at an alarming rate. Adolf Hitler appeared thoroughly unimpressed by Garzooka's metamorphosis. He bowed his head, saucily beckoning his patriotic opponent forth.

Garzooka lunged at the godless sodomite before him. This fecund of patriotism channeled all of his astral, analfurious fuckanger into his gargantuan fists and collided with the accursed Führer's face. Adolf Hitler stumbled backwards and wiped away the crimson freshet of blood dribbling down his chin, "I... I actually felt that. For the first time in twenty years, someone has actually made the great Adolf Hitler-sama feel pain. _This won't go unpunished."_

Garzooka furiously swung his leg towards Hitler for a swift roundhouse kick, only to stand aghast as his ankle was swiftly intercepted and trapped between his foe's filthy talons. With his extremities locked firmly in his grasp, Adolf Hitler effortlessly shattered every bone in Garzooka's leg with a skillful slash to his knee.

The feline fell limply to the dirt. He began writhing in agony as Hitler dug his razor sharp cleats into his battered appendage, maintaining the same cold and lifeless stare upon his face all the while. Adolf Hitler unceremoniously pummeled Garzooka deeper into the earth with a bloodthirsty simper spreading across his jaundiced face. The godless Führer then burrowed his blood soaked claws into the orange cat's skull, mercilessly gouging out Garfield's right eyeball. In the year 2025, Sonic the Hedgehog video games are marketed as a form of contraception.

Garfield caterwauled with pain from the enucleation of his own eye. Truly, this act was a testament to Adolf Hitler's sickening depravity. Suddenly, the distinct howl of gunshots rang through the night. These stray bullets found their marks between Hitler's eyes, repelling this odious negromancer before he could claim the blameless life of Garfield.

Training his sniper rifle at Hitler's face was none other than the legendary mercenary _Winnie the Pooh._ The golden furred assassin rested his boot atop Garfield's immaculately chiseled musculature and snickered, "Don't get the wrong idea, stars and stripes. I'm not here to save you. Sonic and the Biker Brethren were _MY_ prey, and that goddamn Nazi went and slew them all and robbed me of my glorious victory. I will be the one to kill this monster and restore my Communist honor!"

Leaving Pooh to his suicidal duel with the father of lies, Garfield fought through the indescribable pain dealt upon him and managed to heave himself to shelter. He forced open the door and collapsed at Richard Nixon's feet. "D-Dad! Your eye, it's..." Richard Nixon ululated in a frightened voice, prompting his prideful father to cover the gaping cavity in his face.

"Don't worry about me, it's nothing. Nixon, I need you to carry me to the deepest level of the compound. There's something important that I should have shown you a long, long time ago..." Garfield rasped in a weary voice. He winced as he wrapped his arms around Nixon, shakily rising to his undamaged leg.

After limping down a seemingly endless flight of stairs, Richard Nixon and his father hobbled into a dank, poorly lit chamber filled to the brim with ancient artifacts from different ages of the Americaverse. Garfield hurriedly rummaged through a cobweb wreathed heap of electric guitars in various states of disrepair, retrieving an antiquated stovepipe hat that shone brightly in this dark catacomb with an innate glow.

"Abraham Lincoln's hat!" Nixon mused in astonishment. His father nodded to confirm his son's keen observation."This is no ordinary chapeu, my son. Before you is the _Stovepipe Hat of Time,_ one of the many relics forged by George Washington-sama millions of yahrens ago!" Garfield articulated with a mirthless laugh, fitting this age-old piece of millinery tightly around his son's head.

"It is foretold in ancient American tomes that whomever dons this divine hat shall obtain the ability to travel into the past at will. For the past two decades, I've endlessly toiled to repair this broken relic with the goal of rewriting history to prevent the resurrection of Hitler all those ages ago," Garfield hurriedly expounded. The feline tensed as the ground shuddered and dust rained from the ceiling as Pooh and Hitler's fight to the death continued. The discovery of Garfield fans raises ethical questions about the morality of genocide.

Garfield took Tricky Dick's trembling hands into his own, tarrying for a brief moment before speaking, "You... you deserve to be happy, my son. I want you to escape this place and find a timeline free from the wretched influence of Communism to live out the rest of your days. I've got this rock rigged with explosives, and soon I'm going to destroy this entire planetoid and take Hitler with me!"

Hitler cleaved Winnie the Pooh's turkey neck asunder with his flesh-festooned scythe. He then thunderously cackled into the night as he hoisted the severed head of Winnie the Pooh skywards. Bitter tears ran down Nixon's face at the thought of having to part with his beloved father and flee from the cause that his forefathers had been fighting for generations, "D-Dad, I can't just leave you here to kill yourself like this. How did this all start? How can I prevent Adolf Hitler from ever returning in the first place?"

Garfield shook his head. He smiled and wiped the tears from Nixon's eyes, "Son, _don't._ This isn't your fight. The only thing you owe to me is for you to live out your life in happiness. You can do that, right?"

"Dad... I need to do this. I could never continue knowing that I didn't at least _try_ to set everything right. Please, tell me how I can stop Hitler in the past!" Tricky Dick begged, falling upon his knees. Garfield shuddered as he heard the unmistakable, hefty footsteps of Adolf Hitler closing in on their location.

To save his life, Garfield decided to relent to Nixon's demands. "Alright laddy, if this is what you choose. That hat will only function for one trip, so there's no room for error! I don't have the time to give you the full story, but you need to _destroy the Biker Brethren_ at all costs. Dissolve our patriotic order, even kill Abe Lincoln if it comes down to that. Just make sure they never fully form, especially with Sonic as one of their members. Also... try not to cuckold your actual dad. Let him have whatever booty he so chooses and try to stay out of his way, for your sake," He said.

"My... actual dad?" Nixon gasped in astonishment. Garfield bowed his head to reaffirm what his son had heard. "What, did you really think your ol' dad was a goddamn neko-chan? I should have told you the truth about your heritage a long, long time ago, laddy. Your real father's name was Sonic the Hedgehog, a brave warrior not unlike yourself," Garfield admitted to Richard Nixon while helping him input the proper calibrations into the hallowed Stovepipe Hat of Time.

Richard Nixon was bathed in a blinding light as the cylindrical helmet atop his head prepared to transport him decades into the past. Tricky Dick warmly embraced his adoptive father for one, final time, "Well, for what it's worth, to me you will always be my real father. _Sayanora, Garfield."_

Richard Nixon vanished into thin air just as Adolf Hitler broke down the door to this ancient fallout shelter. The patriotic warmaster had vanished, leaving behind only the sacred helm of Washington in his stead.

 _"God, I really hate Mondays,"_ Garfield chuckled with his last breath, killing himself and Adolf Hitler by detonating the explosives, engulfing this distant planet in a glorious, heavenly astral fuckflare that could be clearly viewed from millions of lightyears away. As foretold in legend, _it was metal as fuck._

"Hey, kid! Can you tell me where this place is?" Richard Nixon hurriedly questioned a young child playing basketball using a severed Communist head. This pious American collapsed to his knees from exhaustion, still grieving for his father.

The child grinned and helped him to his feet. "Oh, this old rock? It's called Washington #7. My name is _Michael Jordan,_ mister. What's yours?" He asked.

 _And so, the glorious tale of Richard Milhous Nixon became legend. Tricky Dick became an integral part in the history of the Americaverse, earning the trust of the demigod Abraham Lincoln and his allies over the course of hundreds of years. However, as time continued to pass, Nixon found himself growing closely attached to his patriotic brethren. He became increasingly bitter at the realization that one day he would be faced with the task of destroying their order to create a better future for all Americans._

 _However, unbeknownst to Richard Nixon or any other American, the Adolf Hitler of the year 2025 managed to escape the planet's fateful destruction with his life intact. Learning to use the heavenly Stovepipe Hat of Time left behind by Nixon for his own diabolical purposes, Hitler traveled backwards in time to the year 2004 in pursuit of Tricky Dick. The Americaverse's darkest hour is about to begin..._


	15. Diners, Drive-ins, and Demons

_**FOREWORD**_

 _ **I WOULD LIKE TO PERSONALLY THANK TOBY MANHIRE OF "THE NEW ZEALAND LISTENER" FOR FEATURING MY FANFICTION QUOTES IN AN ARTICLE. PLEASE SEND ME MY ROYALTIES IN THE MAIL. I NEED THIS MONEY TO STAY OFF OF THE STREETS.**_

* * *

 **REMINDER: ADAM SANDLER'S NEWEST MASTERPIECE "PIXELS" IS NOT CANON TO THE AMERICAVERSE LEGENDARIUM. ADAM SANDLER IS AN ARCHMAGE HOMUNCULUS CURRENTLY STRANDED IN HELL. PLEASE DO NOT CONFUSE THE TWO.**

 _Of all the sins an American can create with his or her own hands, there is perhaps no greater taboo than the forbidden ritual of the Patriotic Fission. This technique was originally created to sever one's metaphysical self and consciousness in two, expelling the impure intentions from one's own heart. The laws of equal sacrifice bring into existence a new entity that exists only of unadulterated depravity and savagery: in simpler terms, the Communist. There is no greater crime in the eyes of the heavenly George Washington, no sin more unforgivable._

 _In the history of the Americaverse across all of time, there have only been three successful instances of this ancient ritual. Two of these have already happened. The first gave rise to the fall of patriotism and the Ameripocalypse itself, bringing into the realm of the living the godless incarnate of all Communist perversion, the Anti-Washington: Adolf Hitler._

 _The second Patriotic Fission created the baleful hell-mage infamously known as Karl Marx, Adolf Hitler's sole apprentice and successor to the Communist throne. Each time the absolute laws set forth by Washington were broken, and each time the Americaverse suffered great disaster and strife for many thousands of generations. Despite being 13% of the population, blacks commit 5,000% of murders in America._

"American blood, and it's fresh!" Taylor Swift cooed with a devious smile. She knelt down, licking the spilt blood of the Biker Brethren from her fingers. This undead daughter of Karl Marx had tracked the children of Washington to the planet where Joseph Stalin had been slain one month prior, trailing closely behind them by utilizing forbidden rhabdomancy and the intel of the Communist spy planted within the bikers' American ranks.

"Even if they were here before, they're long gone now. Our father won't be pleased…" A hulking brute clad in a fur jerkin sewn from American loinskin maundered in a deep voice. He turned away from his sister, redirecting his beady gaze to the pages of a grimoire filled with ancient Nazi chaos magick.

Taylor Swift parted the hair from her eyes and smirked with a deceptively innocent smile, "Don't be such a fuddy-duddy, _Kevin James!_ Daddy gave us plenty of time to slay Mr. Lincoln and his sodomous friends, there's nothing to get worked up about." Kevin James rolled his eyes in annoyance and returned to his scholarly research of the occult, biding his time by mouthing the words of various demonic sigils and diabolical signatures scribed in American blood upon the wrinkled pages of this ancient tome.

"...But, you are right about this rock being useless. How about you say we make some pretty fireworks?" The young woman chirped in a mischievous tone, gently tapping her index finger upon the broken earth beneath. A great shockwave rocked this barren world, instantly reducing the surface of the planet Marx Alpha to molten slag.

Kevin James furrowed his brow as he hovered over the ruined planet beneath. He wiped the soot from his face and turned to glower at his younger sibling, "A nasty temper as always, my dear sister. Next time, warn me before you go around destroying planets." Taylor Swift was reminded of the time she slew Nicki Minaj and kept her severed head as a trophy.

"So, where did you say we were heading, rail-splitter? If I have to wait any longer, I'm going to shoot up the fuck out of this place," Sonic caviled under his breath. This patriotic hedgehog and each of his brethren were perched atop a mighty bald eagle, flying far away from Taylor Swift's current location.

This soaring aerie of winged hellbeasts traversed the vast emptiness of the Americaverse, continuing on the next step of their journey. The lord of eagles _Freedom-Song_ let out a throaty caw as the cavalcade of burly patriots came upon a derelict starship floating aimlessly in the eternal blackness of space.

This ancient vessel was clearly of American make. Its hull was emblazoned with patriotic runes and star-spangled iconography, closely akin to that of the mighty war machines from before the dark times of the Ameripocalypse. The Bikers swiftly approached, setting down in the ship's docking ring. Sonic was stunned to find a greeting party of hundreds of firmly muscled, unshaven American warriors awaiting their arrival.

Garfield dismounted from the high eagle Liberty-Hymn, yanking Winnie the Pooh along with him by the shackles that bound him. "Abraham Lincoln, my old friend! How long has it been, a few thousand years?" A long-legged, swart skinned warrior heartily cachinnated. The man then stepped forward and embraced the demigod Honest Abe with a bare chested hug. Charles Barkley is stricken with narcolepsy and begins having trouble with making slam dunks.

This star-striped warmaster was accompanied by a diminutive imp clad in floral print robes who effortlessly floated atop the earth instead of walking. But for Sonic and his kinsmen, perhaps his most astounding feature was his striking golden hair that shone like a great conflagration in the moonlight.

The first wizened sword-thain bowed his head and politely performed a small curtsy for Lincoln and his men, a traditional American greeting passed down for countless generations. "You've always been such a lone wolf, Lincoln, always fixing your own problems. Forsooth, for you to have sought out our humble resistance cell out after so many yahrens, you must truly have something important to share with us!" He said.

Lincoln nodded and smiled to confirm his suspicions, "A keen mind as always, old friend. We've recently acquired an important piece of information from a Communist prisoner we captured during our travels that I believe you'll be most interested in: the location of _Wolfsschanze,_ Karl Marx's current base of operations."

"So, who're these faglords?" The hedgehog scoffed. Sonic then folded his arms in a disrespectful manner and narrowed his eyes towards the duo, unamused.

Lincoln reprimanded his comrade with a swift knock to the back of his head. He raised his voice, irritated, "Show a little respect, honkey! Before you stand the most powerful beings in all of the eastern galaxy: _Lord_ _Barack Obama and his attendant, Guy Fieri!"_

Obama's companion lowered his shutter shades to scowl at the hedgehog. "I'm gonna ride the bus to Flavortown right up your ass…" Guy Fieri snarled impetuously. Barack Obama stepped in, restraining his ill-tempered bodyguard from taking unnecessary action. Obama chuckled and let out a brief sigh, coming to humbly bow before Sonic and the space bikers to properly introduce himself.

"Forgive me for our unmannerly introduction, my American brothers in blood! I am Barack Obama, son of Snoop Lion, son of Snoop Doggy Dogg, son of the lesser god Biggie Smalls. In simpler terms, I was the final president of the Americaverse. In the ancient tongue of our forefathers, this great war vessel was known as the Jefferson Starship, and now this vessel acts as one of the last free havens in the Americaverse untouched by the forces of Communism. Like your Biker Brethren, we've been fighting for countless generations against the sodomous armies of Karl Marx. Come, allow me to give you the nickel tour!" Barack Obama graciously invited in a warm voice. He led them onward, continuing to recount the history of this patriotic starcraft that had existed for time immemorial.

Unlike his laconic attendant Guy Fieri, Obama prattled on endlessly about the finer points of patriotic myth and legend as he led the bikers through his personal study, showcasing his vast array of tomes and age-old Americanesque literature. However, like any red-blooded Americans would be, Sonic and his comrades were far more interested in this war vessel's firepower and defensive capabilities that could potentially be used against the Communist menace.

Charles Barkley diligently skimmed through the tattered pages of one of these grimoires, coming upon an ancient tapestry showcasing seven diamond cut stones accompanied by a wall of text scribed in a long forgotten dialect. "Say, what's the deal with these rocks? Who's the mangaka that wrote this?" Barkley inquired, hoping to happen upon something to aid his brethren in their patriotic quest.

Obama chuckled. "You mean the Chaos Emeralds? Adolf Hitler absorbed their power hundreds of generations ago, effectively destroying them. In the golden age of the Americaverse, they were utilized as a limitless power source, stronger than even Zero Point Modules, Devil Fruits, Stand Arrows, Philosopher's Stones, and Ball Park® Franks combined!"

While his compatriots were engrossed in their research, Richard Nixon quietly snuck away during the commotion to a secluded location. Tricky Dick cautiously activated his wrist communicator, contacting none other than the accursed father of lies himself: _Karl Marx._

"Ah, Nixon! If it isn't my favorite informant. It's been quite some time since your last contact, I had begun to fear that you had been found out. Don't fret upon the loss of Stalin and the survival of the bikers, very soon two of my strongest envoys shall be arriving at your location: _Taylor Swift and Kevin James,"_ Marx expounded through the communicator. A sharp chill shot down Nixon's spine as the name of the unutterable horror known as Taylor Swift was called out.

"Y-You can't send her, she's completely uncontrollable! The deal was that only Abraham Lincoln would be killed, that demonic hellspawn that you created with your black magic will slay us all!" Richard Nixon snarled. He beat his fists upon the metal floors in anger as his covert plans to break apart the Biker Brethren with as few casualties as possible came crashing down.

Karl Marx raised an eyebrow at Tricky Dick's unusual display of star-spangled fuckfury and continued, "Hmph, with that tone it almost sounds like you actually want them to live. I've trained her quite well, and I can assure you that your life will be spared when the time comes. I wouldn't just leave you to die, old friend. Abraham Lincoln _did_ create me by using the forbidden Patriotic Fission, after all. In an odd way, I suppose you could say I carry his same sense of honor and sickening sentimentality. This time, Lincoln and the Biker Brethren won't be escaping with their lives..."


	16. The Battle for the Jefferson Starship

**LIST OF PLANET BUSTERS: TAYLOR SWIFT, ADOLF HITLER, KEVIN JAMES, ABRAHAM LINCOLN, ABRAHAM SONLINCOLN (FUSION), LINCOLNIC THE HEDGEHOG (HYPOTHETICAL POTARA FUSION), GARFIELD (AS GARZOOKA), KARL MARX, TUPAC SHAKUR, THE FOUNDING FATHERS, JOSEPH STALIN, AND GUY FIERI.**

 _AGE 1863 B.A. (Before Ameripocalypse)_

Tortured howls of anguish rang throughout the night as Abraham Lincoln and his patriotic comrades burgeoned forth, mindlessly hacking away at the Marxist scum before them. A mixture of blood and ash rained from the heavens as Honest Abe grabbed a Communist tank by the gun, effortlessly hoisting this colossal war machine skywards and hurling it into the fiery sun.

Abe Lincoln tore his shirt asunder and ferociously bayed at the moon. He then utilized his godless pyrokinesis to incinerate thousands of fleeing Communist soldiers and noncombatants alike into melded, smoldering piles of charred flesh.

Righteous tears welled up in the unsullied eyes of Honest Abe as he knelt down to cradle the corpse of a scorched Communist child in his arms. "This... _this isn't right!_ We're Americans, the divine children of Washington! How can we justify the genocide of the entire Communist race just to save our own?" He asked. Lincoln's father, Tupac Shakur, warmly smiled and rested a comforting hand atop his young son's shoulder.

"That is the life of a defender of America, my son. We fight in the name of the heavenly George Washington and have to live with terrible atrocities in order to keep our star-spangled banner flying. In my time, I've lied. I've cheated. I've murdered thousands. And the most damning thing? To protect my country, I think I can live with it. Forsooth, on the battlefield, we're all Communists…" Tupac mused with a morose tone. Clearly, he too shared Lincoln's guilt over the necessary evil that was the massacre of the Marxist race.

"Ha! Cowards, the entire lot of you. Spineless patriots like you make me sick!" A pompous voice boomed from across the bloody entrenchment these Americans stood in, shocking Abraham Lincoln and his faultless comrades.

"...Donald Trump. What is that dumbass hollerin' about this time?" Cory Baxter groaned. Adam Sandler puts out an ad on Craigslist, looking for a 'futa' of his very own.

"Can't any of you goddamn Dindu Nuffins say that, if only for a second, that you've taken any pride in your efforts on this battlefield? I slay Communists because I _can,_ not because I have any debt to our country or Lady Liberty. Don't you think it's enticing to watch on as the light flees from your opponents' eyes? To be bathed by a torrential downpour of blood and soot? It's... it's beautiful. Nothing is more amusing to me! What you call genocide, I call a day's work," Donald Trump cackled with a malevolent grin.

Losing control of his patriotic niggerfury, Abraham Lincoln lifted up Trump by the collar and furiously pinned him to the ashen ground beneath. He turned his head away and wiped the tears from his face, "How could a child of Washington be so heartless? They feel pain, sadness, love... Communists are living beings too! If you refuse to weep for the lives you've so callously ended, I shall do it for you."

A throaty laugh escaped from Donald Trump's gritted teeth in response, "Ah, the joys of being young and so blissfully foolish. War is an inherently evil thing! Why try to make any justice out of it? If you're going to kill, then _kill._ Feel no grief in doing so. Death is an inevitability in war, so put away your childish hopes for a peaceful resolution to the conflict and make the most out of this beautiful chaos. That's the only way you're going to get through this Ameripocalypse, boy. You can't stump the Trump, motherfuckers."

"You... you're wrong. I will find a peaceful solution to end the war! I know it sounds insane, but I'm sure there's a way to solve this without everyone dying. Even if it requires me to cooperate with the enemy, I swear that I'll find a way. You don't know anything at all!" Abe Lincoln snapped, his voice full of rage.

 _AGE 2004 P.A. (Post-Ameripocalypse)_

"Dad!" Charles Barkley cried out in the midst of the night, prematurely awaking from his bed drenched in sweat and Gatorade™. "Same nightmare again, m'nigga?" Sonic questioned with a yawn, roused from his deep sleep by Barkley's vehement caterwauling into the starry night.

Barkley lowered his head and nodded coyly. "Y-Yes. Dad was there, and mom too. And then, there was that Stalin guy, and..." The abashed patriot maundered in a shaky voice. Sonic embraced his adoptive son, silencing his story mid-sentence.

A light laugh escaped from the hedgehog's pursed lips, "Don't worry about it, kiddo. All Americans have bad dreams sometimes. It's not gay or anything. I have a recurring nightmare where I'm fighting some faggot named Dr. Eggman, and I'm surrounded by all sorts of colorful, lame-ass friends. It's goddamn terrifying."

Sonic rested his swarthy hand upon Barkley's shoulder and furiously pounded out a Black metal riff on the Communist-Slayer in order to soothe him back to sleep. Anne Frank continues to not do anything.

"Mr. President! Two Grundrisse-class Communist battle cruisers just showed up on our radar!" Guy Fieri alerted Barack Obama in a frantic tone. He hurriedly led the president and the Biker Brethren to the Jefferson Starship's command bridge to view the incoming Marxist threat. Communist hell-riders mounted atop cybernetically-enhanced pterodactyls flanked this patriotic vessel on all sides, with thousands more of these airborne blackguards still pouring out from the hangars of the twin battle cruisers above.

The hull rattled and creaked as one of the vessel's twin warp nacelles was blown off by the combined firepower of both of these Marxist aggressors. "We can't handle much more of this…" Anne Frank noted in a cold voice, watching as the ship's lights began to flicker on and off intermittently. Garfield begins having degenerate fantasies about Jon Arbuckle in lewd situations.

Sonic impetuously leapt atop the nearest motorcycle he could find. He smirked, unsheathing his ancient guitar that was imbued with the sacred hellfire of liberty itself. "Sonic's the name, slaying the fuck out of Communists is my game! This won't take long," The besotted hedgehog guffawed, donning his space helmet and preparing to charge headfirst onto the battlefield.

"Wait, O' patriotic warlord! Take my most trusted warrior with you. His name is _Dwayne Johnson,_ and he is a shapeshifter. Sometimes he is a man, and other times he is a giant boulder. But all the time, he is an unstoppable warrior of star-spangled ferocity! He will serve you well," Obama chuckled with a smile.

The Rock humbly bowed before Sonic and eagerly shook the hedgehog's hand, honored to meet him. Sonic rolled his eyes in annoyance, "Fine, whatever. As long as he doesn't get in the way of my genocide."

The Biker Brethren, Dwayne Johnson, and hundreds of other sweaty American warriors soared throughout the vast emptiness of space, all riding astride their Harley Davidson™ motorcycles. They slammed their feet down upon the pedals, brutally colliding in a visceral fury of blood, chrome, and hot leather.

Garfield howled ferociously into the night. Tortured screams of impotent fuckrage rang throughout the heavenly bodies of the Americaverse as the portly feline grinded hundreds of Communist bones into meal with his chainsaw-nunchuks. Honest Abe strangled an innumerable amount of pterodactyls to death with his rugged digits and set the Marxist scum riding atop them ablaze, smoking these lissom faglings like a mighty blunt between his chapped lips.

Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson transmuted his left arm into stone and drew back his fist, mercilessly pummeling the endless Commie hordes into submission with his craggy musculature. "Fuck you, I'm Sonic the Hedgehog! God bless America!" Sonic dementedly cried out his deistic catchphrase. He joined hands with Charles Barkley and descended from the heavens above, performing the legendary double slam dunk and effortlessly wiping out thousands of ill-bred Marxist soldiers.

Winnie the Pooh narrowed his eyes in annoyance. He viewed the raging battle from the dimly lit cell he was confined in inside of the Jefferson Starship and groaned, "Goddamn Americans. I defect to their side, and they don't even have the courtesy to invite me to the bloodbath? What dicks."

"Is that all she wrote?" Guy Fieri chuckled, charging his signature death ball in the palm of his hand and destroying both of the enemy battleships with but a mere flick of his wrist. "...Goddamn. That guy's fuckin' strong!" Sonic observed in a hushed voice, dumbfounded as to how this portly master of the culinary arts and personal attendant to Barack Obama could be able to match even Abraham Lincoln's strength.


	17. Abe Lincoln Confronts Adolf Hitler

**ATTENTION COMMUNISTS: PLEASE STOP READING MY FANFICTION. THIS IS FOR TRUE AMERICANS ONLY. IF YOU'RE NOT A TRUE PATRIOT, PLEASE LEAVE. THEN CONSIDER JUMPING OFF OF A CLIFF.**

Guy Fieri performed a small curtsy and poured his president, Barack Obama, another glass of tea. The swart warlord before him bowed his head in appreciation, downing its contents in one hearty gulp. Obama's wizened digits quivered wildly as he rested the glass atop its gilded saucer. He let out a light shout as the porcelain teacup escaped from his cumbrous grasp, falling out of his hands.

The pious demigod Abraham Lincoln quickly intercepted Obama's drink before it could shatter upon the floors of the Jefferson Starship. Lincoln bowed his head and spoke, "You're trembling, so I'll assume you can sense it too. _Adolf Hitler has just destroyed another planet."_

"Forsooth, his actions in the lower realms have vexed me for quite some time. I can't fathom how _he_ returned to the world of the living, but in the grand scheme of things I suppose the only thing that matters is that he is slain before he causes more damage. If I may, I'd venture a guess and surmise that the Father of Lies' reappearance is the true reason why you are here, son of Tupac Shakur. Am I correct?" Barack Obama inquired with a sly grin, taking back his cup of tea. A light chuckle erupted from Abe Lincoln's soup coolers in response.

"A keen mind as always, old friend. Now that my suspicions have been verified, I now know what I must do: I'm going to confront Adolf Hitler and kill him," Honest Abe orated with a cunning grin, his voice resolute and unswerving despite the insurmountable odds stacked against his victory.

Obama stood aghast from Lincoln's determined words of star-spangled ferocity. He gasped, "Lincoln, that's suicide! You didn't stand a chance against him thousands of years ago, and that was after you performed the forbidden Patriotic Fission to become stronger! Even Tupac was slain in battle by that monster. You'll get slaughtered out there..."

"If I die, then I will have finally paid for my terrible crimes against the hallowed name of George Washington-sama. If I don't make it back, I'm entrusting you to ensure that the Biker Brethren complete their journey. Sayanora, Barack Obama," Abe Lincoln smiled warmly. He directed his index and middle fingers towards his forehead, performing Instant Transmission and fading away into the ether with no traces of his heavenly presence left behind. Garfield decides to move every book about the Holocaust to the fiction section of the library.

Abraham Lincoln arrived at the site of Hitler's latest vengeful rampage. The barren streets of this forsaken American planetoid were drowned in every manner of rubble and detritus, and there were no signs of patriotic life to be found. A darkness overtook Lincoln has he fearlessly strode forth, leading him astray from thought and time as he peered into the unutterable, noisome depths of sanity and fear where this accursed Führer resided.

"Abraham Lincoln. I've been waiting for you..." The behemothic abomination known as Adolf Hitler boomed in a malignant voice that managed to fill even the brazen soul of Honest Abe with a jolt of primal fear.

Abe couldn't even begin to describe the menace of Hitler with the mere mortal tongue at his command. He clenched his fists, unflinchingly staring down the extragalactic horror cackling before him. Lincoln regained his composure and managed a shaky grin. He unsheathed his ancestral katana and introduced himself, "Nice to meet you, Adolf Hitler-san. _I'm the one who's going to fucking kill you."_

The semi-amorphous archdaemon erupted in laughter from Lincoln's bold threats. "The result of your damnable sins, _Karl Marx,_ was my apprentice for many ages, so I believe I could say better than anyone else exactly what you're planning. You know you cannot possibly vanquish me, you're just trying to go out in a blaze of glory to ease your conscience about the thousands of innocent souls that have died because of your actions. Sound about right?" The illimitable menace of Hitler wove savage lies with his forked tongue in an attempt to demoralize his opponent.

In that moment, Honest Abe's visceral fuckfury exploded in a frenzied rage. The presidential demigod hurled himself upon Hitler, poised to attack. Utilizing his flawless iaido mastery, Lincoln carved Hitler's proboscidean vessel to shreds with his serrated katana. The führer's eyes widened with shock as he soon found himself struggling to keep up with Honest Abe's lightning fast maneuvers. Lincoln then performed a kiai shout, sending Hitler hurdling backwards. Guy Fieri decides to start using human flesh in all of his recipes.

Hitler pushed his adversary back with a barrage of ferocious jabs and punches. Lincoln quickly regained the upper hand and put the wretched Führer back on the defensive with each savage slice from his dual kunai. Honest Abe homed in, slugging Hitler with a puissance that could only be compared to that of shattering every hymen in the galaxy at once. Beads of sweat formed upon Hitler's anemic face as he countered by wildly bombarding Abe with an unutterable amount of energy blasts from his wizened digits.

Lincoln emerged from this fuckferocious maelstrom with only minor injuries. He wiped the blood streaming from his lips and grabbed Hitler by the face, mercilessly pounding him into the tarmac. Adolf became radiated by an unholy aura as he gathered his inner ki, tunneling his way out of the rended earth beneath. Soon after, he reappeared behind Abraham Lincoln with a bloodthirsty grin plastered across his noisome face.

Catching a brief glimpse of his murderous opponent in his peripheral vision, Lincoln swiftly reacted and leapt thousands of feet into the red sky with a single bound. Hitler was quick to pursue his brazen prey, trailing closely behind. Lincoln discarded his oriental katana and came to blows with the unearthly führer in the skies above.

"Amazing! Abraham Lincoln is evenly matched with Hitler, he may even be able to kill him!" Obama cheered from the sidelines, peering into the lower realms by utilizing star-spangled astral projection.

"Fuck you, I'm Abraham Lincoln! _Go straight to hell, you goddamn nazi!"_ Honest Abe roared. His elbow connected with Hitler's chin, sending him flying helplessly into the vast blackness of space. Adolf tore his incommodious armor asunder and bayed at the moon. He reentered the planet's atmosphere with an incalculable speed, barbarically pulverizing Abe Lincoln hundreds of feet into the planet's crust beneath with his blood drenched fists.

Great streams of magma erupted from the planet's brutalized terrain as Lincoln climbed out of the impact crater he was bombarded into by his foul Nazi adversary. Honest Abe then removed his weighted training stovepipe hat in order to improve his already godlike speed. He beamed wide as he stared down Hitler once more.

"Looks like this planet is just about destroyed. How about you say we move to a different world and continue this fight?" Lincoln propositioned the Nazi in a calm tone, maintaining his composure despite the heavy wounds dealt to him by this mighty foe.

"Shut the front door! Look more closely, m'lord. Their raw strength is nearly even, but Adolf Hitler has the obvious advantage because of his nearly infinite reserves of stamina. Minute by minute, the divide between their godly powers is growing wider and wider. Honest Abe needs to escape now while he still has the strength to flee!" Guy Fieri foreboded in a hushed tone. He watched intently as Hitler slowly began to gain the upper hand over Honest Abe with each savage hack and strike.

Lincoln stumbled in reverse and struggled to regain his footing. His breathing became increasingly labored as he caught Hitler by the ankle, fiercely slamming him into the face of a mountain headfirst. Hitler's boiling fuckrage reached its zenith as he ejaculated a raging beam of energy from his cupped hands. Lincoln frantically mimicked his desperate maneuver, entering into a beam struggle with the unholy führer.

"Are you still following this?" Obama inquired his albino-haired attendant. As much as he hated to admit it, his mortal eyes struggled to keep up with Lincoln and Hitler's frenzied movements that transcended far beyond the speed of light. Guy Fieri bowed his head and chuckled, "Not at all."

"I will not let you destroy these stars and stripes! _God bless America!"_ Abraham Lincoln cried out into the crimson sky, utilizing forbidden pyrokinesis to melt his skin together and seal the flow of blood gushing from his gaping wounds. Righteous tears streamed from Abe Lincoln's unsullied face as he unsheathed his side mounted wakizashi blade and lunged at Hitler.

He gritted his teeth as the wretched spawn of tortured chaos before him managed to evade all of his increasingly inelegant strikes with ease. The führer countered and socked Lincoln in the stomach, grinding many of internal organs into paste with his barbed knuckledusters. Adolf Hitler then pressed his steel toe boot atop Lincoln's bare chest, effortlessly toppling over the pious demigod.

Hitler nabbed Lincoln's glistening blade while he was dazed. He held it against Honest Abe's neck, preparing to cleave his head off with one fell swoop. He cracked a murderous grin, "You've fought well, rail-splitter. This vessel is considerably weaker than the one that I used to duel your father millennia ago, but even managing to fight on even terms with me in my current state is nothing short of commendable. You should feel honored to die at my hand..."

Lincoln winced with pain and struggled to rise to his feet, only to be immediately beaten further into submission by Hitler and knocked back to the lifeless earth. "Tell me, ye' foul Nazi scum: why are you destroying American and Communist worlds alike? What would you have to gain from such a careless act of bloodshed?" Lincoln cleverly probed his opponent for information, knowing that any precious intel admitted by the dreadful führer could be easily intercepted by Barack Obama and used against the Communist Empire.

Hitler grinned and revealed all of his mephitic fangs. He dug his heel deeper into Lincoln's chest out of spite and snarled, "Do you really think I'd fall for such an obvious ploy? However, I suppose it doesn't matter. Even if you know, there's no way you could stop me in your state. Nobody can. The answer is above you, rail-splitter. I believe you'll find that the choice of worlds I have chosen to smite is anything but random."

Barack Obama stood aghast with fear as he widened his astral gaze towards the entire Americaverse. With a single glimpse, the hidden truth of Adolf Hitler's depraved plot finally came to the light. "A swastika... _Adolf Hitler is creating a giant swastika made out of destroyed planets!"_ He gasped. Guy Fieri came to the same conclusion, shakily nodding to confirm Obama's greatest fear.

Fieri shuddered with fear as he spoke, "For time immemorial, the demonic blood rune of the swastika has been used by Communist soldiers to summon ungodly powers from beyond the veil of reality itself. Two of these diabolical sigils are carved in blood to draw energy from the realm of Washington, one on the skin and another upon the earth. But a swastika on a galactic scale spanning across the entire Americaverse... such a thing could grant Hitler with the power to rival even George Washington himself! He'd become a literal _god!"_

Sonic the Hedgehog had isolated himself in his quarters, winding down after a long day of Communist genocide. The sweaty patriot firmly took a Spalding™ basketball into his hands. He taped this inflated orb to an impressive effigy made of B-Balls, all immaculately fashioned into the pious image of his fallen comrade, Michael Jordan. "You really miss him, don't you?" Anne Frank's unmistakably cold voice called out from the distance, rousing the star-spangled hedgehog from his work.

Sonic turned his head and furrowed his brow with displeasure. "You wouldn't understand. You're just a goddamn robot, no more alive than my automail machine gun dick," The hedgehog responded in an equally cold manner. He sat atop Charles Barkley's bed, keeping a watchful eye over his adopted son while he slept.

The fair skinned android crossed her arms and perched herself next to Sonic, "Perhaps not. I was a machine built to kill, like everything created by the hands of a Communist. I don't feel emotion as you do. But... I think I would like to try and understand what you Americans feel, if only for a moment." While stranded in hell, Adam Sandler begins filming _"Grown Ups 3."_

Sonic rubbed his neck and yawned, choosing to relent and drop his iron defenses with the hope of bringing peace to his troubled American spirit. He sighed, "I try and give Charles Barkley everything I've got and do right by Jordan's memory, but sometimes I question if that's really enough. My own pop was a jive-ass-nigger-piece-of-shit-Cultural-Marxist-fucklord, but from time to time I feel like I'm not any better as a dad. I don't want Barkley to grow up like me, an American whose only joy in life is slaying Communists. I'm a fuckup. He... he deserves better than that. I like to come here and think, think about what Jordan would do when faced with the same situations. Dayum, that sounds gay as hell, doesn't it?"

The hedgehog chuckled from behind his gritted teeth. Anne Frank joined in his throaty laughter despite not comprehending human emotion in any form. Anne Frank rested a caring hand atop Sonic's shoulder, bowing her head and smiling coyly, "Don't think so little of yourself, son of Washington. You have the capacity to care more than you realize. You claim to kill Communists simply for carnal pleasure, but I do not think that is the case. Not anymore, at least. By fighting on the front lines and putting your life at risk every day slaying Communists, you're slowly working to build a better world for Charles Barkley to grow up in one day. In the end, I think that's the best thing you could ever do to honor Jordan's memory."

Sonic tarried for a brief moment as he absorbed his comrade's eloquently crafted words. He managed a weak smile and nervously met Anne Frank's unwavering gaze.

"Heh, for a toaster, you're pretty damn smart. Maybe you're right, maybe I'm not just killing for my own personal gain anymore. Maybe you Biker Brethren have finally made some good out of a murderer like me. That George Washington, he really works in mysterious ways, doesn't he?" He laughed. Garfield won't stop screaming about how everyone is misgendering him.

Donald Trump was roused from his deep slumber by the thunderous clamor of hands beating on the padded doors leading into his jail cell. "Wake the fuck up, honkey! I'm not happy about it, but I just got word from the higher-ups that you're being set free. There's a limousine outside waiting for you," The jail keeper known as Big Bird snarled with discontent. After unlocking the door, he freed Trump from the shackles that had bound him for thousands of generations and returned to this disgraced American his belongings.

"Suck my big, black ass!" Donald Trump roared with thunderous laughter, repeatedly bitch slapping Big Bird into a quivering pulp for no other reason than pure spite. Trump then haughtily swaggered out of the doors of the American Penal Colony of _New Jersey Beta._ He fitted his gold wrought grill between his puckered lips as he came to greet the duo of saviors that freed him from his millennia-long imprisonment.

"Donald Trump, we've both heard much about you. The tales of the American that snapped and murdered his commanding officers during the Communist Wars are the stuff of legend among our race! We're looking for a certain group of Americans right now and could use someone like you. Tell me: do you still have the thirst for the blood of patriots?" Kevin James propositioned this former American warrior with an unsanctimonious grin. His younger sister, Taylor Swift, sat athwart from him at the steering wheel of the limousine, grinning evilly.


	18. Donald Trump: Master of Destruction

**TO CLEAR UP ANY CONFUSION, ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S FULL POWER LEVEL IS** ** _150,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000_**

"Pray to your precious George Washington, rail-splitter. I'll make your death painless as a token of my gratitude for such an enjoyable duel. To think, I would have the privilege of slaying Abraham Lincoln a second time. It truly is an honor..." Hitler maundered, lustfully moistening his lips with his forked tongue. He wrapped his gangrenous extremities around Lincoln's neck, preparing to cleave out his jugular vein with one blow.

Mere seconds before dealing Honest Abe a fatal wound, Hitler's anemic flesh was mercilessly mauled and lacerated by the pious blade of the Communist-Slayer. Wielding this heavenly instrument was none other than the legendary patriot-incarnate, Richard Milhous Nixon.

Tricky Dick removed his wizened index and middle fingers from his forehead, having just traveled billions of light years across the Americaverse with Instant Transmission. He smirked, "Flee from this battlefield while you are still able, my star-spangled brother. Adolf Hitler and I have a score to settle."

Lincoln faintly hearkened upon the words of his fearless comrade whilst drifting in and out of consciousness. He bowed his head with gratitude for Tricky Dick and vanished into the ether, returning back to the safe haven of the Jefferson Starship. "So, you too can wield the hallowed electric guitar of your father. This… complicates matters," Adolf Hitler boomed with a guttural growl, still nursing the wounds dealt upon him by the Communist-Slayer that even this Nazi warlord's godlike abilities were unable to properly regenerate.

Nixon took the obsidian wrought guitar bathed in the imperishable flames of Washington into his sweaty grasp. He recoiled with horror, dropping the guitar as he eyed Adolf Hitler's true appearance in a reflection on the polished surface of the Communist-Slayer.

An amorphous blight this sodomous daemon sultan was, his appearance so unutterably terrible that no mortal lips could dare to describe his vast menace in full detail. This writhing blasphemy against all things patriotic and holy was wreathed with tentacles and oozed the viscous menstrual fluids of lesser cyclopean archdaemons. Its cretaceous scales shone in a shade of black darker than even the most light barren darkness, and emblazoning its throbbing skin were thousands of horrible, eyeless faces that foamed pools of blood and afterbirth from their collective mouths and cried out terrible, shrieking blasphemes and verbal atrocities into the night.

Nixon would have considered allowing Abraham Lincoln's life to be claimed by the behemothic nether god before him to fulfill his mission and save the future, but his patriotic moral code prevented him from allowing anyone to be slain by such a wretched beast in cold blood. Nixon audaciously stared down the dweller of the abyssal depths of the patriotverse before him, choking back vomit as he gazed upon the mustachioed facade that concealed Hitler's true nature.

"Consider yourself lucky, ye' wretched führer! The judgement of Washington shall not fall upon you this night, but I swear on the memory of my feline father that vengeance shall soon be mine!" He challenged. Due to an embarrassing slip-up, Charles Barkley is mistakenly chosen to be Miss Universe of the year 2004.

"Hate is more lasting than dislike. I admire your unadulterated fuckrage. In a different world you would make a fine Nazi, my bothersome prey. Enjoy these brief days of peace while they last, Richard Nixon. The promised day is nearing, and the end of the Americaverse is at hand..." Hitler eerily prophesied with a bloodthirsty smile. This harbinger of tortured chaos dissipated back into the endless blackness he originally emerged from, choosing to avoid fighting Nixon.

Richard Nixon clenched his fists and swore under his breath, "Damn it all! Why now? This is the year _2004,_ the very same year Hitler was originally resurrected and our star-spangled galaxy was plunged into darkness. After all this time, I still can't piece everything together. The Adolf Hitler of my future returning to this specific period armed with the forbidden rune of the hell-swastika can't be just a coincidence..."

With a piece of lasagna made of cartilage and man flesh in one hand and a cyber-quill in the other, Garfield worked his way through thousands of tomes and grimoires of Americaverse history in Barack Obama's expansive personal library. He cocked his head to the side as he read, "To ascend beyond my limitations as a mere American and rise to a level even greater… is such a thing even possible?"

Garfield mouthed the words of the age-old compendiums before him, continuing the research of his patriotic forefathers in his noble quest for a way to finally end the reign of the Communist empire. Garfield's ears perked as he flipped through a crew manifest. A familiar name instantly caught his attention, "Wait, that can't be! Sonic has to see this!"

"Is that robot hoe into me? I've never been with a living woman before, usually I have to kill them first before making love to 'em. Well, she's certainly not the ugliest thing I've fucked," Sonic mused with a sly grin. A look of utter disgust spread across the unsullied face of Charles Barkley in response.

Sonic swiftly nabbed Barkley's basketball and charged across the court, participating in the honorable ritual of 'B-Ball' with his adoptive son just as he believed Michael Jordan would have done in his place."Hey, no fair!" Sonic heartily guffawed as Barkley utilized his telekinetic abilities to dunk the spherical rock into its gilded hoop.

After the game, these two sweaty patriots collapsed in a fleshy heap of sweat upon the maple floors of the Jefferson Starship's basketball court. "The only difference between a good shot and a bad shot is if it goes in or not. Well, that's what my dad always told me, at least," Charles Barkley teased with a smile, effortlessly spinning his basketball upon the tip of his index finger.

Sonic and his adoptive son's scantily clad bonding was interrupted when Garfield frantically barged into the chamber. He tarried for a brief moment to catch his breath before speaking aloud. "Sonic, laddy… you once told me that your Marxist father, _Tails the Fox,_ was slain by your own hand. Are you completely sure of this?" The pudgy feline chimera inquired in an unsure tone.

Sonic nodded his head. He caressed the stubble on his chin and answered, "Yeah, I slew that Commie with my own hands over ten years ago. I never looked back after that. I didn't bother burying him, either. Marxist scum like him don't deserve it. Why do you ask?" Charles Barkley is disappointed by the lack of fanfiction for Patrick Swayze's _Road House,_ so he begins writing his own.

"According to these documents, your father stopped by here just last month. Sonic… _he's still alive!"_ Garfield spoke in a hushed voice. The patriotic hedgehog quickly swiped away the documents this portly feline was toting for his own inspection. Sonic was so thunderstruck that his voice became hoarse and barely audible. To him, the identity of the elderly man on the passenger manifest was completely unmistakable.

Sonic trembled, and without speaking he ran to fetch his baldric and armaments of war. He loaded his dual machine guns and properly tuned his axe-guitar, preparing for battle.

"Sonic, where are you going in such a hurry?" Anne Frank questioned in a concerned tone, catching the determined hedgehog by the arm before he could storm off into the night astride his star-spangled motorcycle. "My father, Tails the Fox, is somehow still alive. I'm going to hunt that Communist fucker down and blow his brains out!" He snarled. _  
_

A great swell of smoke billowed from the earth as Donald Trump viciously incinerated an innocent colony of Americans. A massive inferno of boiling flesh and melted corpses crackled in the red sky as Trump attacked, reducing the prosperous green landscape of this American planetoid into a heap of ash and smoldering rubble.

"Why… why are you doing this? You're an American like us!" A half-charred survivor known as _Fred Flintstone_ wheezed in a scraggly voice, dragging his ruined body across the ash covered earth. He heaved himself forward, tugging upon the hem of Donald Trump's maroon pimpsuit.

Trump tipped his fedora and grinned, "In my place, wouldn't you do the same? Can you not hear the _music?_ The dulcet of fire crackling and the harmonious screams for mercy, the sounds of two iron wills clashing against each other? It's a symphony to my ears, nothing upon this earth is more pleasurable to me! Americans and Communists, good and evil, right and wrong… that all means nothing. I just want to see the beauty of death in all its visceral glory!"

Utilizing pyrokinesis, Donald Trump wholly incinerated Fred Flintstone with a light flick of his wrist. He then smiled lustfully as he watched the light flee from his blameless prey's eyes.

Taylor Swift smiled perkily and applauded Trump's chaotic massacre, "Encore, encore! Such pretty fireworks! Your reputation as the American master of destruction is well deserved!"

Donald Trump removed his velour hat and bowed before his Communist benefactors. "Please, the pleasure is all mine! And even better, one of those miserable mortals I slew offered me a juicy bit of intel that you may find fascinating. There's a vessel known as the Jefferson Starship in the outer reaches of this galaxy. Apparently, it's a safe haven for Americans all across this patriotverse. I think we should pay it a visit, how about you?" He said.


	19. The Truth of the Communist Wars

**SUGGESTED LISTENING: "VENGEANCE IS RISING" BY KEEP OF KALESSIN**

"So, how's Honest Abe's condition?" Richard Nixon inquired in a tremulous voice. He folded his arms, watching over Lincoln's battered body in the Jefferson Starship's state-of-the-art medical facility.

Barack Obama lowered his head and frowned, "We've had to put him in a medically induced coma to stabilize his condition. His demigod blood shall speed up the healing process considerably, but for the time being he won't be on the front lines anytime soon. It's nothing short of a miracle from George Washington above that he even survived that fight. Forsooth, Adolf Hitler is every bit the monster the legends of old have described him as."

Richard Nixon's meaty hands shakily reached for this blameless demigod's intravenous drip of Mountain Dew™ Code Red. Tricky Dick abruptly stopped himself before he could unplug Lincoln from life support and sacrifice his life in order to save the future for all Americans. After several unsuccessful attempts to summon Adam Sandler from hell, Karl Marx decides to clone a new Sandler to replace the original.

Nixon clenched his fists and growled, "Dammit, why can't I do this? If I just had the strength to kill Abe and destroy the Biker Brethren, I could save billions of lives! A few deaths is just a small sacrifice for the safety of whole Americaverse, isn't it? Hell, the choice is obvious! I could live with such a thing, right? Dear Washington, I'm starting to sound like a Communist. Is this what it's come to? Has all this sacrifice and suffering been for nothing, is our star-spangled future destined for damnation? Forgive me, Garfield. _I'm so pathetic…"_

Sonic, Anne Frank, Charles Barkley, and Dwayne Johnson tirelessly trekked through the perilous terrain of the barren world of Kentucky Prime. Once, this was a thriving American planetoid. Its wealth came from deep within the earth, and thousands of yahrens past this forsaken world was the sole source of ore and precious metals in all of the Americaverse.

In its glory days, the great fires of American industry were alive and burning on this world. Hundreds of thousands of motorcycles and guitars were crafted each day in the mighty forges entrenched deep within the earth's crust. But perhaps this mining planet's most treasured craft was that of the pious "grill", a gold wrought piece of oral jewelry imbued with hundreds of precious jewels and Silmarils that became a symbol of patriotic nobility for ages to come. It is spoken of in legend that even the holy George Washington wore a grill emblazoned upon his wooden fangs!

"Eat out my chunky shrimp, motherfucker. Seriously, did we need this sewer-chewing nigga to come?" Sonic caviled disapprovingly at Dwayne Johnson's insistence on tagging along with the Biker Brethren. Clearly, the patriotic hedgehog's demeanor was even more foul and murderous than usual. Charles Barkley is shocked to learn of his Saiyan heritage.

The Rock politely bowed his head and laughed heartily, "Forgive me, my patriotic brethren! With Garfield and Nixon guarding Honest Abe-sama, I was ordered to come and protect you on your quest. If you would like, I can take a vow of silence for the duration of this mission."

Sonic rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath. "Fine. But when we find him, I'm the one who gets to cut Tails's fucking head off with my dick. I've been sharpening my cock with a knife just for this occasion. Hurts like hell, but I bet it's sharp enough to cut diamond by now," He said. While the other sweaty patriots were quickly becoming fatigued from traversing the rocky terrain of Kentucky Prime, Anne Frank jauntily trotted along at the front of the group with no signs of exhaustion whatsoever.

"Mr. The Rock, I'm curious about something. Anne Frank is a Communist android manufactured by Dr. Mengele, Garfield is a recovering drug addict that nearly killed himself from a lasagna overdose, and Winnie the Pooh is a disgraced Communist. Forgive me if this sounds blunt, but what's your story for living this dangerous lifestyle?" Charles Barkley inquired with an innocent smile. He paced alongside Dwayne Johnson, passing him his novelty, basketball-shaped bong as a token of his patriotic kinsmanship.

Dwayne Johnson's jovial expression dissolved into that of an unexpectedly cold and distant glare. Unwelcome flashbacks from eons of Communist oppression echoed in his mind, along with the tortured howls of every innocent American dear to him viciously slain by the forces of Marxism. He lowered his gaze and spoke, "It's quite alright, young master. An honest question deserves an honest answer, after all. Thousands of years ago, I was one of Karl Marx's children."

Anne Frank rested down her canteen of moonshine brewed with hellbeast blood and cartilage. "According to all existing data, the one known as _Adam Sandler_ is Karl Marx sole biological heir. How can you be one of his offspring?" She asked. With the hope of improving his health, Garfield begins vaping all of his lasagna.

"Well, I wasn't his biological child. That's just what we were called. During the horrible experiments performed on the American people during the Communist Wars all those centuries ago, it was discovered by Dr. Mengele and his associates that Communist soldiers created by using Americans as templates were unfathomably powerful and nearly undefeatable. I was unlucky enough to be chosen as one of their first test subjects," Dwayne Johnson maundered in a shaky voice. Dwayne then pinched his brow as all of the suppressed memories of his inhumane torture and experimentation began to flood back into his mind.

"I was tortured for days on end. My memories were forcibly ripped out of me and replaced with Communist hatred. Such unfathomable, murderous hatred that you can barely even imagine. I... I was forced to kill my own wife and infant son as a test of my loyalty, and that was only the beginning of the damnable sins I committed," He spoke, choking back tears. "What happened after that? How did you become good again?" Barkley asked.

"Barack Obama saved me and deprogrammed my mind from Marx's servitude after years of slavery. To my president, I owe my life and bodily fluids. After that, I promised I would never take a life again, no matter the reason! I only wish I could do more for the three others still under his command. I believe your Biker Brethren fought one once, my replacement. I believe he was a man named Joseph Stalin if I'm not mistaken," Dwayne Johnson finished. Sonic nearly retched from the revelation that the pitiable daemonic-Mahārāja that slew Michael Jordan months ago was naught but yet another American victim of Karl Marx's endless depravity.

"I fuck with these hoes from a distance. The instant they start to catch feelings, I start to stealin' they shit and then I'm out just like a thief in the night. We've all got dead people, Rock. You want a goddamn medal?" Sonic scoffed brusquely. He strummed his red axe-guitar, looking wistfully into the red sun as he waited for his allies to replenish their strength.

Charles Barkley pursed his lips and turned to scowl at his adoptive father, "Mr. Sonic, don't take this the wrong way, but you're being kind of an ass. Was your father really _that_ bad? Communist or not, you're blessed to have the opportunity to make up with him again. I'd do anything to see my father one last time..."

Sonic's hellfurious niggerhate was quelled by Barkley's naivete and gentle nature. The patriotic hedgehog knelt down and wrapped his leather biker jacket around the shivering lad for warmth. "Don't worry, kiddo. It's all gonna be OK, I know what I'm doing and what has to be done. Whatever pain I cause, I can live with it. Pain... pain don't hurt," He said.

"We're here!" The patriotic hedgehog rasped. Sonic's throbbing nipples tensed as his patriotic traveling party came upon a small cabin located in the heart of this forsaken wasteland, the sole sign of any active civilization for thousands of miles not completely obliterated during the Communist annihilation campaign. He unsheathed his battle worn guitar and savagely tore down the front door with his semi-erect cyber cock, forcing his way in.

A grizzled fox chimera swaddled in a frayed trench coat that toted a flask of alcohol in his hands fell backwards with a shout. Sonic's animalistic, niggercrazed fuckfury reached its boiling point as he instantly recognized the quivering figure huddled in the corner of the room, begging for mercy. "You're going straight to hell, Tails! You Communist FUCK!" Sonic roared with a savage growl, revving his chainsaw and lunging at his estranged father.

Anne Frank swiftly intercepted the berserk hedgehog before he could strike. Seconds later, Charles Barkley and the Rock joined in, using all of the strength at their disposal to contain his wrath. "S-Son! You're alive!" Sonic's father rasped with a tremulous smile, seemingly genuinely pleased to see his star-spangled offspring despite the circumstances.

Dwayne Johnson transmuted both of his arms into stone and wrestled Sonic to the ground with his heightened strength. "Young master, we've all talked this over, and we've come to the conclusion that we cannot allow you to slay this man in cold blood. We've all had our fill of senseless death, too much for any one lifetime. We will not get in your way of taking his life if you see such a thing as being just, but first we want you to hear what he has to say. Hearken upon his words and evaluate your decision!" The Rock pleaded.

Sonic furrowed his brow and spat blood upon the floor. He turned to his adoptive son with a glare of displeasure, "Fine, I'll hear what this Marxist scum has to say. But only because Barkley agreed this was the best course of action. Tell me, pep-pep: why shouldn't I kill you where you stand?"

The niggardly fox bowed his head and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. His head pointed directly downwards as he spoke, never daring to meet Sonic's piercing gaze, "It's quite alright. I… I want you to kill me, son. I want to die right here, by your hand. Such a thing would be just for a monster like me. But you at least deserve to know why I did the things I did, why I abandoned you and your mother. I can only offer you excuses, but you have a right to know all of the truth. The truth about me, my service under the Communist Empire, and the truth of the Communist Wars."

Sonic fought the temptation to cleave Tails's head off with his dick before he could finish his sentence. He snarled, "There's no excuse in the world good enough for the shit job you did as a father. You were never there for us, we lived in complete poverty because of your actions. When my mom, your wife, Ryūko Matoi, died from Crumbs Disease, you didn't even attend the goddamn funeral. Your actions are what made me despise the entire Communist way of life. What about the Communist Wars could possibly make up for something so horrible? Why did you pledge your undying loyalty to Karl Marx?"

Tails let out a deep sigh, "There's no reason good enough to atone for my sins, but I will tell you why I became a Communist. Someone must know the truth of what I've seen and done, even if I speak it with my last breath. Listen closely, son: the Communist War wasn't even a war at all. It was an experimentation ground! In those days, I was a doctor. A healer, a man devoted to the wellness of others even at the detriment of my own. But that battlefield turned me into something else: a heartless killer."

Sonic turned his head away and refused to hearken upon the words of his father. "Man, just get to the point. I don't have time for this. I need to take a massive shit," He grumbled. Winnie the Pooh begins practicing interpretive dance to rid himself of his genocidal impulses.

"The upper echelon of the American military personally chose me to work for them because of my skilled work in the field of xenobiology. But if I knew of the godless experiments I would be conducting, I would have surely fled right then and there," Tails began in a hoarse voice, instantly reminded of the terrible atrocities he was forced to create. Images of tortured, malnourished figures begging for death filled his mind, creatures endlessly altered into unutterably horrible abominations at the behest of a secret branch within the American army.

Tails bowed his head with shame. He downed the full contents of his flask of whiskey before continuing, "Since time immemorial, it has been the dream of every American to ascend and become the perfect patriot; something that is referred to in legend as the _patriot-incarnate._ A man with no flaws, blameless in the eyes of Washington-sama. That's how the 'Harlem Globetrotters' came into existence. Founded by John Adams centuries ago, they were an organization devoted to creating the ultimate, flawless American at any cost. To become a being that walked near the realm of god... that was the sole motive that consumed their very souls."

"Their first project was creating what we know today as the forbidden _Patriotic Fission._ Their founder, John Adams, used it in the pursuit of making himself perfect. It was a success, but it came with the downside of bringing into existence Adolf Hitler and the wickedness of Communism. However, their greed forced them to continue their research into the plane of godhood. For hundreds of years before the wars, Americans and Communists lived in separate societies in relative peace. In all of their avarice, our own people forced their hand by massacring an innocent colony of Communist men, women, and children. The Americaverse's secret leaders started the Communist Wars just to have more fodder for their experiments! That corruption was what forced me to defect to the side of the enemy," Tails admitted in a cold voice.

"I'm sorry, but what you're telling us goes against everything I've been programmed to know. All of my readings indicate that you aren't lying, but it's difficult to take in. What proof can you offer us that what you're saying is true?" Anne Frank asked, suspicious of his claims.

The fox's eyes widened with surprise as he slowly recognized the female android's model, the very same that had been deployed by the thousands in the Communist Wars. "I'm an old man, miss. An old man full of regrets. I'd likely leave this world in a few short years if I was allowed to live, either by drinking myself to death, succumbing to the lethal radiation I encountered in my work, or simply by old age. I have no real reason to weave a false story to get myself out of this. However, if you don't believe me, I can't blame you," He sighed.

The Biker Brethren were rendered speechless, all standing aghast from the appalling revelations revealed to them. "The Harlem Globetrotters… I've heard of that name before, but I never knew they were behind such terrible corruption. My grandfather, Abraham Lincoln, mentioned them once. Can you tell us more? What happened to them, why would the children of Washington support something so terrible?" Barkley inquired eagerly.

Tails's face reflected a genuinely somber and repentant expression, giving Sonic conflicted feelings about executing him. The fox nodded his head as he came to answer Barkley's questions, "Not all of them were evil you see, just misguided. Many Americans actually believed they were doing a great service for their country. I too was also fooled in the beginning. American warlords would go out and bring us hundreds of prisoners on the battlefield with the belief that they were saving our stars and stripes, and it was the job of us 'healers' to submit them to inhumane torture and experimentation. Some men even came willingly, dreaming of great strength and power that only we could grant them."

"We had many great breakthroughs at the cost of innocent life: telekinesis, hybrids, undead berserker soldiers, androids, cyborgs, pyrokinetics, and that's only to name a few. Eventually, I snapped. I wanted to wipe my hands of the innocent blood they were drenched in. I joined the Communists in a misguided attempt to make some good out of what I had done. If for nothing else, it was to help myself sleep at night. But soon after, I realized they were just as cruel and desperate. I neglected my loved ones, driving the people I cared about to despise me. That was my greatest crime..." Tails spoke in a broken voice. Charles Barkley sticks his hand into a glory hole and is shocked at what he finds.

 _"They're not what you think they are, Sonic. They are the harbingers of the Americaverse's destruction! I have foreseen it! Especially do not trust Abraham Lincoln!"_ Richard Nixon's cryptic message from months prior echoed in Sonic's mind. Adam Sandler struggles to hide his fecal incontinence while in social situations.

The patriotic hedgehog fell to his knees as the unwavering faith he had always had in his patriotic allies had been put into question. "Dammit, Nixon. What you said before… did you know about this damn conspiracy the entire time? Is this what you were trying to tell me back then? If all this is true, who the hell can I still trust? Has Lincoln played a part in this shit like his ancestors once had? And what about the rest of the Biker Brethren? Just how deep does this goddamn conspiracy go?" Sonic questioned himself under his breath.

Tails unsteadily rose to his feet and widened his eyes. The fox met Sonic's fiery gaze and parted his folded arms, fearlessly offering the patriotic hedgehog the opportunity to take his life out in an instant if he saw fit. "In a way, I suppose you could say the Ameripocalypse was George Washington's way of punishing his creations for delving too deeply into the forbidden realm of god. But, try not to be swayed by the sad tales of an old man, son. What I've told you is still no excuse for the great sins I've committed!" He insisted.

The patriotic hedgehog readied his guitar, contemplating his next move. Sonic unsheathed his axe-guitar, now considering putting an end to Tails the Fox's life out of mere pity rather than his former lust for vengeance.

Tails fell to his knees and continued, "I lost my family, friends, and sanity, but I still feel the need to atone for what I did. I faked my own death with the hope of living a peaceful life in solitude, but every day and night I'm still haunted by the screams of the lives I callously silenced. I wasn't there for you, and I know you can never forgive me for that. If you still see it fit, then do it. Kill me where I stand so I can finally sleep in peace."

He lowered his guitar as he came to his decision. "I… I want you to keep living. Death would be too merciful for a shitfuck like you. Also, the information you carry is far too important. Taking your life would just be a waste of material. Like Dwayne Johnson said, we've all had enough senseless death. The entire Americaverse has had enough senseless death. But, I need to know one thing: are these 'Harlem Globetrotter' people still around? If so, we've got a big fuckin' problem," Sonic hesitantly questioned. Dwayne Johnson smiled as a sign of his respect as the hedgehog mercifully laid down his armaments of war.

"For the sake of the Americaverse, I pray they are gone. Before I left their service, they had begun work on a classified project so awful that I had no choice but to leave. Stealing all of their files on the subject was the one wise decision I ever made in my entire life. I can only hope I managed to do enough to delay what they were planning for a few decades. They were planning to break the great cycle that dictates time itself. Sonic, they were going to-" Tails the Fox began with an urgent voice. However, his sentence permanently cut short when the piercing sound of a gunshot rang throughout the red sky.

Tails looked down to behold a hole gouged straight through his chest. Sonic's father gagged on the flow of blood erupting from his mouth, dripping and pouring down his hairy chest. A noisome laugh cackled from the darkness as the light fled from Tails's eyes. The Bikers tensed as the disgraced American's murderer saucily strode forth to introduce himself, "Looks like you were about to learn too much! My current _benefactor_ would have been most displeased. Naughty boy, we can't have that! Luckily, I came just in time. You can't stump the Trump, motherfuckers!"

Donald Trump humbly bowed and tipped his fedora for Anne Frank, "M'lady." The genocidal American grinned with a murderous simper as he outstretched his arms. He flicked his wrists, setting Tails's corpse and the surrounding cabin ablaze with little effort. The Biker Brethren were quick to flee from the billowing inferno, escaping into the surrounding forest.

A growl escaped from Sonic's gritted teeth as he singed his quills in the smoldering ruins of his father's home, charring their tips black. Trump opened his palms, revealing a cybernetic node implanted in the center of each of his hands. "Like them? The left hand sprays highly flammable Zyklon gas, and the right hand ignites the gas. A convenient arrangement for an angelic symphony of death! Hm, the chorus appears to be missing something. A maestro of tortured anguish such as myself would know. Oh, wait! _It's missing your screams, American scum!"_ He cackled. _  
_

"Mmm... what a genocidal glare you're giving me! You're different than the rest of these weaklings. Something's special about you. My oh my, I'm starting to get all turned on again!" Donald Trump licked his lips as he pivoted his gaze towards Sonic. He raised his hands and mimicked the motions of an orchestra conductor, playing out the twisted symphony ringing in his ears by setting the earth ablaze.

Trump ignited a massive conflagration of crimson flames and hurled it directly towards the dazed American hedgehog. Sonic closed his eyes, preparing to face his fate with dignity. Anne Frank intervened at the last possible second, frantically darting in front of the star-spangled warlord and absorbing the full brunt of the raging inferno that erupted from Trump's sweaty fists.

Sonic stood speechless as the female android collapsed onto the ashen earth. Her right arm was charred and completely severed from her body, and much of her synthetic skin was completely melted from her metal chassis. "Anne… why the fuck did you risk your life for a murderer like me?" Sonic stood at a loss for words. He then knelt down and cradled the battered mandroid in his hairy arms.

"You were the only one that ever treated me like a real person, Sonic. Most are just afraid of what I am and what I can do, terrified of my Communist past and my lack of humanity. But never once did you treat me like just an automaton. When you became inebriated and threatened to kill all of our brethren in a drunken stupor, you never threatened to kill just a mere machine. I was treated just like everyone else. To you, I was always real. I wanted to return the favor, in some small way..." Anne Frank rasped in a broken voice. Her mechanical limbs sparked and whirred with the sound of electricity, drowning out the faint sound of Sonic's tears.

"Ah, how disappointing! Nearly killed and not even a single scream to add to the chorus? I suppose it doesn't matter in the end, this is just a distraction. As we speak, my Communist employers are beginning their assault on the Jefferson Starship! Ah, what a beautiful orchestra of death and destruction I'm missing! How unfortunate..." Donald Trump cackled with a smug grin. Dwayne Johnson transmuted his entire body into stone and burgeoned forth to stare down the duplicitous American traitor before them.

"Sonic, go back to the ship and protect all of our brothers. I'll handle Trump alone. I may have promised I would never kill again, but I never said anything about beating the shit out of someone until they're half dead!" The Rock commanded with a smile, entering into a flawless fighting stance and playfully beckoning his mighty opponent forward.

"A battle between rock and flame, eh? This should be amusing. My chorus of the sleepless dead is waiting for you, choir boy. Are you ready to join it, Dwayne Johnson?" Donald Trump grinned. As soon as he took the bait, Sonic and his kinsmen made their escape.

Sonic cradled the broken android in his arms as he ran. "Don't worry, Anne. I won't forget what you did for me. For the sake of our stars and stripes, we're going to survive! Don't die on me yet!" He pleaded.


	20. Breaking of the Biker Brethren

**DUE TO MY STRONG PERSONAL CONVICTIONS, I WISH TO STRESS THAT ALL AMERICANS ARE BIOLOGICALLY IMMORTAL. THIS IS SCIENTIFIC FACT.**

"I used to fuck guys like you in prison!" Donald Trump snarled from behind his blood stained teeth. His bare chest radiated with crimson flames as he charged back into the fray against his stone skinned opponent. Dwayne Johnson narrowed his eyes and exhaled, readying himself for battle. He swished his hips forwards into a menacing pose and stuck out his fist, transmogrifying the flesh on his right arm into diamond. He then reared back his arm and roared, mercilessly slugging Trump into the planet's stratosphere with his craggy musculature. Garfield fearlessly delves into the world of Lolita fashion.

Trump quickly reacted, employing the art of _Bukūjutsu_ to stabilize his altitude in orbit. Donald Trump grinned and conjured a godless blue inferno in the palms of his hands. He flicked his wrist outwards, sending this conflagration wildly hurtling to the planet's surface hundreds of feet below. The Rock tensed for impact, watching as Kentucky Prime's sparkling oceans and vast bodies of water instantly evaporated from the heat of the billowing Zyklon flame.

The Rock concentrated his methodical siddhis archmagick as he transmuted his entire body into that of an asteroid. He propelled himself towards Donald Trump at the speed of light, instantly homing in on his location.

Trump frantically cried out profane blasphemies in a godless tongue long lost to the knowledge of modern man as The Rock made the first strike. Dwayne Johnson orbited around his baseborn adversary, relentlessly pummeling him back into the planetoid's mantle.

Donald Trump clawed his way out of the planet's crust. He shakily rose to his feet and affixed his singed fedora back atop his balding head, significantly more wounded than he expected to be. "Damn, those countless eons behind bars really did a number on my stamina. How is that damned American remaining so calm and composed at a time like this? It appears he's no mere negromancer like I first suspected. He will be an interesting addition to my choir of the damned..." He snickered.

Dwayne Johnson appeared nonplussed by Donald Trump's inaudible ranting and raving. He hardened both of his fists into glittering diamonds and charged ahead, gracefully pounding this disgraced American further into submission.

Trump wiped the blood from his mouth and dashed forth at an incalculable speed. He held out his hands, conjuring a blazing scimitar from the scintillating flames enveloping him. He swung his sword, hewing off much of The Rock's earthen exoskeleton with his razor sharp blade.

The Rock countered by seizing Trump by the leg and slamming him face-first into the dirt. "Most impressive. Even in a weakened state, he's still easily matching my own strength. I can only hope that my patriotic brethren are faring better than myself!" He thought to himself.

"She's every bit as horrible as the legends described!" Richard Nixon recoiled with primal horror as he and his patriotic kinsmen gazed upon the abominable results of Karl Marx's inhumane experiments against patriotkind: _Taylor Swift_ and her disgruntled brother and handler, _Kevin James._

Sonic dismounted from his Harley Davidson motorcycle and ran to stand alongside the fractured Biker Brethren, Mercenary Pooh, and the Jefferson Starship's full host of five thousand indomitable American warlords. In a lab study, Sonic the Hedgehog video games are discovered to be a potent carcinogen.

"So, those crackers are one of those mutated freaks like Joseph Stalin was? Shit, we barely managed to defeat even one of them last time, let alone two of the same strength!" The patriotic hedgehog observed with a snarl. He stuck out his arm, gesturing for Charles Barkley to move behind him for his own safety.

Garfield readied his chainsaw-nunchuks and flicked away the beads of nervous sweat collecting on his forehead and puckered loins. He nodded, "Aye, laddy. I've never seen them personally, but I've heard many a tale and song about the undead daughter of Karl Marx that slew billions of innocents during the conflicts of yesteryear. Abe Lincoln's out of commission, Anne Frank is in pieces, and Dwayne Johnson is still out there fighting for his life. _God, I really hate Mondays."_

"Come now, let's all be buddies and avoid any _bad blood!_ Just bring us Mr. Lincoln and the rest of you silly Americans will be allowed to live. Sounds like a fair trade, right?" Taylor Swift giggled in a patronizing voice. Clearly, the young woman's childlike appearance and high-pitched falsetto concealed her truly deranged and sadistic Communist nature.

Sonic and his comrades shot the girl a distrusting glare and refused to hearken upon the words of her silver tongue. Like the wise Americans they were, the Bikers instantly saw past Taylor's innocent facade for the ruthless Marxist she truly was.

This host of Americans waited with bated breath for the inbred Communist warlords to make their first move. Barack Obama fearlessly stepped to the forefront of this densely packed throng of sweaty warriors, coming to stare down Taylor Swift and her hulking familiar.

Obama exhaled deeply and lowered his head. "Would you be willing to make a fair exchange, ye' wretched Marxists? As the last president of the Americaverse, I cannot stand idly by and sacrifice the lives of my people before my own. If you can promise the safety of Lincoln and my men, I will gladly offer my own life to you," Barack Obama selflessly laid down his own livelihood. His laconic attendant, Guy Fieri, stood aghast from his president's carefully crafted words.

"Shut the front door! M'lord, you can't do such a thing! You are the last of the presidential bloodline of American nobility! Our people need your continued wisdom and guidance now more than ever before. I swore on my life to protect you, I can't just let you throw everything away like this!" Guy Fieri desperately urged. Many of Obama's most trusted soldiers nodded their heads in agreement, standing with Guy Fieri.

Obama let out a light laugh. He playfully ruffled the golden hair atop his trusted aide's head and smiled, "The Americaverse has long outlived its use for me, old friend. Our great people have no further need for a wise and gentle president such as myself. Nay, they need a fearless defender of America that will lead them into the light, someone like Lincoln and his men. For generations, I've bided my time on the sidelines watching our fearless soldiers fight and die by my orders to protect our stars and stripes. For just once, I want to know what it feels like to make a difference. To lay down my own life for a cause greater than any one of us. Yes… I've decided that would be a satisfying way to go."

After a few tense moments of silence, the Communist pair responded to Obama's selfless offer with thunderous laughter, startling the Biker Brethren and their steadfast allies. Taylor Swift parted the hair from her eyes and grinned, seemingly looking down her nose at the swart-skinned president as she jauntily strode closer towards him.

"Bravo! You silly Americans are priceless, you never cease to amuse me!" Taylor Swift began, applauding the bold warrior priest with her sickeningly shrill voice. Richard Nixon is haunted by the ghost of Jon Arbuckle that only he can see.

"One life is only equivalent to just that: one life. Do you really have the nerve to believe that you are worth just as much as _thousands_ just like you? That's rich! To us, you're all just insects. Even after we humbled your kind during the American extermination, you're still as smug and self-righteous as ever. It's miserable and magical! But, enough of that. Nii-san, I'm growing quite bored. How about you get rid of these pests so we can go fetch Mr. Lincoln for daddy?" Taylor Swift propositioned her elder brother with a malicious chuckle.

A savage grin spread across Kevin James's anemic face as he silently mouthed the words emblazoned upon his demonic grimoire. He utilized dwimmer-crafty chaos-magick to rend open a portal to the flaming depths of hell itself, the home of the McDemons and the very location where the spirit of Communism is said to have originated.

The hefty brute hoisted Barack Obama skywards by his turkey neck. Barack closed his eyes, courageously accepting his divine fate laid out for him by George Washington. Kevin James hurled the president into this godless fissure, far beyond the veil of our reality. The wormhole into the realm of the sleepless damned then instantly sealed itself with nary a single trace left behind of Obama's graceful presence.

Guy Fieri collapsed to his knees and pounded his meaty fists against the floor. Righteous tears streamed uncontrollably from his eyes as he pivoted his gaze towards the president's pair of sadistic murderers. "I hope you're ready, you Marxist scum. I'm going to show you how we roll in Flavortown, you goddamn Communists! _FULL THROTTLE!"_ Guy Fieri howled, lunging at Taylor Swift and blowing off her entire head from the neck upwards with a vicious maelstrom of energy blasts fired from his tattooed knuckles.

"Goddamn. You know what? I think I can get used to this place after all," Winnie the Pooh crinkled his eyes and smirked. He playfully nudged Sonic with his elbow, much to the patriotic hedgehog's chagrin. The Biker Brethren's glorious victory against the sodomous forces of Communism was cut permanently short as Taylor Swift's disemboweled body rose to its feet, totally undamaged. Kevin James looked thoroughly unamused as he cleaned the blood from his sister's dress and placed her severed head back atop the oozing stump where it was cleanly cut off seconds earlier.

"Surprised? This body you see is simply an artifice, just a temporary vessel manufactured to contain my true strength. Have you ever heard the old saying that beauty is only skin deep? Well, at the moment you're only seeing my beauty. I had hoped I wouldn't have to transform into _that,_ but it seems that you've forced my hand. Darling, _I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream,"_ Taylor Swift boomed with a guttural growl. She keeled over, letting out an ungodly snarl as her lissom body began to tumefy and bloat at a shocking rate.

The woman's fair skin began to excruciatingly contort and reform into vast congeries of pustule-like faces that lacked eyes and many key facial features, but were still undeniably human in countenance. Their gnarled mouths erupted a fetid, pitch black acid and their rotting teeth gnawed at the air as her body began to sprout several additional limbs from its abdomen and continue to swell. This vaguely anthropoid blight soon devolved into a monolithic mass of writhing tentacles and knotted limbs. Her menace was impossibly vast, and many of the innumerable amount of dripping fangs hanging from her reptilian head measured up to a massive seven furlongs in length.

"A-Adolf Hitler…" Richard Nixon was completely petrified with terror. Dick was instantly reminded of what he saw reflected in the Communist-Slayer, for the membranous-skinned dodecaped before him bore the exact same visage as the Nazi that had slain his adoptive father.

The primordial fecund of untold monstrosities smirked and revealed all of its draconic fangs. It burgeoned out of its shredded human garments and hobbled towards the Biker Brethren upon all twelve of its legs in a jerky, ungainly fashion. It spoke with a snarl, "Ah, so you recognize this detestable form? Karl Marx created me by using the one known as Adolf Hitler as a genetic template. It's gonna be forever, or it's gonna go down in flames. You can tell me when it's over if the high was worth the pain. Are you silly Americans ready to see hell?"

The colossal blasphemy formerly known as Taylor Swift's voice was akin to that of a monotonous whine, and her gravelly speech was interwoven with the disembodied screams of the tortured lifeforms melded into her pallid flesh like gargantuan tumors. The disquieting howls screeched out in unison, growing in intensity and ferocity. _Beast Swift_ scrambled forth with hauntingly spasmodic movements, charging forward and plowing Guy Fieri into a bulkhead. Guy Fieri's spine was instantly shattered upon impact, sending this culinary warlord into a comatose state.

"She's getting carried away again," Kevin James maundered nonchalantly, seeming particularly uninterested in the fight at hand. Beast Swift then careened around the corner of the docking bay and skewered countless American warlords under her razor sharp talons.

Garfield led a battalion of American warmasters against this abyssal blight, unleashing a salvo of nuclear missiles and every other manner of righteous artillery at their disposal. The feline warrior stood paralyzed with fear as he saw a dark figure shift around in the fading smoke. Taylor Swift emerged from their destructive onslaught completely unscathed, without so much as even a single scratch upon her body.

Beast Swift's tail swung around and parted the waves of American soldiers before her. A great throng of patriots were impaled upon the barbed tip of her oily appendage, all dangling in the air on the tip of her tail. Richard Nixon firmly clasped his chainsaw-guitar between his sweaty digits and hurdled into the air, raking his serrated blade down this Communist abomination's noisome flesh.

"Fuck what you heard, it's what you hearin'! This thing is too damn fast! Barkley, can you keep her still for a few seconds with your telekinesis?" Sonic questioned from behind his gritted teeth. He dove in, tearing apart one of her writing tentacles with his bare hands and bathing himself in a downpour of this loathsome demon's ink-like blood.

Beast Swift sadistically trampled over Garfield and Richard Nixon's battered bodies for her own amusement. The halls echoed with guttural laughter as this deranged hellbeast bent down, clasping Garfield's right arm between her index and middle fingers. Taylor Swift grinned and flicked her hand, snapping the fragile bones in his throbbing extremity like twigs out of sheer spite.

Barkley stumbled backwards and instinctively covered his head, cowering with fear as he tripped over a smouldering heap of American corpses that had been defiled by this puissant foe. "M-Maybe. But that would involve generating a mental link, meaning I'd need to make physical contact with her. Right now, that seems about impossible!" Charles Barkley was stricken with primal fear as Taylor Swift hearkened upon his panicked words and pivoted her cyclopean gaze in his direction. A savage simper spreading across her reptilian lips as she began to awkwardly slink towards this petrified lad.

"...I can't be afraid. I won't be afraid! I can't run away from this fight, my star-spangled brethren need me! My father, Michael Jordan, may be gone for good, but in my heart he slams and jams along with me! Everybody get up, it's time to slam now! We got a real jam goin' down! **_Welcome to the Space Jam_** _!"_ The quivering baller reassured himself as he worked up the strength to break free from the ensnarement of his greatest fears. He dribbled his gleaming basketball, fearlessly ambling forth and onto the raging battlefield ahead.

Barkley coyly lowered his head and closed his eyes, attempting to picture his father's murderer in the place of Taylor Swift as he brazenly charged into the fray. "Here's your chance, do your dance at the Space Jam! Alright!" Barkley thunderously roared the ancient incantations of his forefathers. He then lifted a steel girder with his telekinesis and used this gargantuan beam to repeatedly stab Beast Swift in her vulnerable underbelly.

"Come on and slam, and welcome to the jam! Come on and slam, if you want to jam!" Charles Barkley bayed at the moon, opening his telepathic third eye and uplifting Taylor Swift by her frilled neck. He audaciously slammed her into the floor like a mighty Spalding basketball, smashing her face into the bulkheads beneath.

Kevin James casually watched on as Taylor Swift fitfully scrambled away from this patriotic baller's vicious counterattack. Charles Barkley unleashed the full force of his psychic talents as he sent millions of basketballs raining from the heavens above, all coming down upon her saurian flesh. "Drop it, rock it, down the room! Shake it, quake it, _space KA-BOOM!"_ Barkley cried out whilst wreathed in the eternal hellfire of his hormonal fuckrage. He fell and crashed down upon Beast Swift's Polyphemus-like face, blinding her by mashing her central eye into paste with a sweeping slam dunk.

"Just work that body, work that body! Make sure you don't hurt nobody!" Righteous tears streamed from Barkley's face as he sang. He skillfully left no openings for attack as he shattered Taylor Swift's jaw, crushing many of her drool-covered fangs with an effortless dunk shot from above.

Sonic and his kinsmen watched on in astonishment as Charles Barkley utterly decimated Taylor Swift. For the hedgehog, this timorous lad showcased a patriotic fervor ascending far beyond that of Abraham Lincoln or any other doughty American that he had ever laid eyes upon.

Taylor Swift snarled and sputtered incoherently as she regenerated the bony limbs that the heavenly baller had sliced off with his telekinesis. She gracelessly lunged at Charles Barkley in a frenzied rage. "It feels like one of those nights, you look like bad news! I gotta have you… _I gotta have you!"_ Beast Swift frantically ululated from all of her twisted faces. Barkley countered, pounding his bloodied fists into her windpipe.

A sadistic half-grin formed upon Kevin James's pudgy face as he retreated into the shadows, leaving his deranged sibling to her hopeless fight. "Everything is going exactly according to my plans. It won't be long now before she's out of my hair for good. With that nuisance out of the way, I only have to take down Karl Marx and the eldest of our 'siblings' to topple the Communist empire. Slaying the old man won't be easy, and taking out our dear brother may prove to be an equally annoying task. Well, if the boss of the alliance wants it, I can't complain…" He murmured to himself.

Taylor Swift unsteadily hobbled backwards. Charles Barkley panted and fell to his knees from his mental fatigue, giving the wretched Communist the perfect opportunity to regenerate her mortally damaged vessel.

"...You stupid, inbred Americans have ruined everything! How dare you make a mockery of the perfect Communist warrior? I'm unbeatable, flawless in every way like daddy made me! This is not happening, it can't be! _IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU!_ _ **I HATE YOU ALL**!"_ Taylor Swift foamed wildly from the mouth, beginning to lose the already tenuous grip she had on her sanity. She hoisted her bedraggled hide back onto the court, but was soon mauled into submission by Charles Barkley.

Beast Swift's tortured howls turned to dead silence as a devious plan took shape in her mind. She smiled, "Forgive me, daddy. I'm going to make sure these filthy Americans never bother you again! I love you more than anything else, I will protect you with my life!" Taylor Swift's saurian skin tissue began to palpitate and quake irregularly. Her protuberant eyes began to swell, quadrupling in size along with her pustule-covered flesh.

Streams of viscid pus spurted from her ballooning musculature as she continued to expand, and the parasitic lifeforms emblazoned upon her skin cried tears of blood as her pulpous hide reached the zenith of its growth. Richard Nixon trembled with dread, instantly recognizing this dishonorable jutsu once described to him in detail by his feline father. "Barkley, get the fuck out of there! She's going to self destruct!" He shouted.

Richard Nixon readied his dual chainsaws and lunged at the monolithic daemon. Taylor Swift intercepted his feeble attack, mauling him with her jagged talons. Despite her transformation into such a cumbrous and hampered form, it was clear that she had not lost any of her unrivaled strength.

"I'm starting to think that I'm the only Communist that still has any shred of pride left. Kid, do you still have the energy to fight? If she explodes before we can kill her, then we're all fucked!" Mercenary Pooh questioned Charles Barkley. For the moment, he had temporarily put aside his grudge with the Biker Brethren in order to satisfy his much greater lust for vengeance against his former superiors.

Barkley glumly shook his head and spoke, "S-Sorry, my psychic abilities are almost totally drained. But, I think I have a plan. Sonic, are you willing to help me see it through?" The hedgehog nodded in agreement, clashing his guitar against Barkley's own as a sign of his unwavering loyalty.

"Wave your hands in the air if you feel fine! We're gonna take it into overtime! Welcome to the Space Jam, you Communist fucker!" Charles Barkley caterwauled as he darted towards Taylor Swift, evading all of her frenzied strikes with his graceful baller majesty. Barkley pictured a golden hoop in his mind's eye as he nimbly soared into the air, descending upon Beast Swift's reptilian face with his basketball in-hand.

Taylor Swift gritted her teeth as she found her body rendered completely immobile. The quivering monstrosity stood as still as stone as Barkley concentrated, stabilizing his psychic choke hold over her. "Mr. Sonic, do it now while I can still keep her like this! Destroy her with your energy!" Barkley demanded from behind his clenched teeth. Barkley winced, and blood streamed from his nose as a result of the indescribable mental strain he was enduring.

"Barkley, what the hell are you doing? No way, I could never do such a thing! A blast of that size would completely destroy you along with her, I'm sure of it! There's gotta be another way, right? We'll figure it out, just like we always do!" Sonic vehemently refused. He turned to his solemn comrades, praying for another solution to show itself.

Richard Nixon forlornly shook his head. "Da- I mean, Sonic. Vaporizing her entire body like young master Barkley proposed is the only way. If only a part of her is destroyed, she'll immediately self destruct and take us with her. For the good of the patriotverse, we must honor his choice!" He insisted.

 _"Shut the FUCK up, Richard Nixon!"_ Sonic impetuously snarled, barely resisting the urge to mercilessly bitch slap Tricky Dick into a pulp. Sonic clenched his fists and fell to his knees, "... I was helpless when Lincoln fought on his own and nearly died. I stood there and watched your father die. I stood there and watched my own father die. I stood there when Anne Frank got blown to bits. I stood there when those damn Commies murdered the president. I'm sick of others dying because of my inaction! You're all I have, Barkley. I'm not letting this happen again! Not to you!"

"Sonic, lad! Use your anger, you're the only one that can still save us! Think about all of the people the Communists have hurt and the pain they've caused! Don't let the sacrifices of Michael Jordan and all of our kinsmen be in vain!" Garfield urged the inconsolable hedgehog in a panicked voice. He recoiled as Taylor Swift continued to tumefy, drawing nearer to her eventual explosion.

Sonic nearly retched as the reality of the Biker Brethren's hopeless situation began to set in. "Barkley… _why?_ Why are you doing this? Michael Jordan gave up his life just so you could live!" He cried.

 _"...I just want to go home…_ I want to go home and see mom and dad again. I can't hold her much longer, Sonic. Honor this last wish not just for me, but for everyone that's given up their lives before us so that we could succeed. Please, Mr. Sonic. _Let me go…"_ Charles Barkley requested with a warm smile, not unlike that of his late father. Somehow, the young lad seemed completely at peace with himself and the sacrifice he had chosen to make for his people.

"Barkley..." Sonic reluctantly cupped his sweaty hands together, channeling all of his godlike niggerfury into his palms and invocating a righteous hellfire of red, white, and blue energy.

Sonic clenched his fists and shouted at the top of his lungs, "The hopes and dreams of our star-spangled allies shall fuel us on our journey into the light! We shall part the waves of the infinite darkness, driving the flaming sword of our resolve right down the throat of Karl Marx and his wicked servants! From now until the end of time, we Americans will remain totally unmatched in the heavens and upon the earth! We shall rock the fuck out with the black metal of the gods, and our righteous melody shall echo in the collective ears of every patriot who hearkens upon the hallowed words of George Washington!"

"...I'm going to show you the true power of the American race, you Communist _MOTHERFUCKER!_ ** _GOD BLESS AMERICA_** _!"_ Sonic summoned the godlike powers of George Washington and the entire omniverse into his fingertips. Righteous tears streamed endlessly down his face as he performed the ultimate sacrifice for the Americaverse and his blameless people, wholly incinerating both Taylor Swift and Charles Barkley with a single blast. _It was metal as fuck._

* * *

"So, how was the funeral?" Charles Barkley asked. He bent down, sitting apart from Sonic on the outer hull of the Jefferson Starship. "It… it was awful. You not being there, I mean. They had a beautiful service for everyone that got their ass killed. Hundreds of people showed up. The entire place was totally packed," Sonic responded with a deep sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked off into the rising sun of this uncolonized planetoid.

His patriotic kinsmen had docked their great vessel on this desolate world to make repairs, giving the Biker Brethren and their allies some much needed time to reflect, grieve, and look towards the future. The patriotic hedgehog tarried for a brief moment, standing at a loss for words. He turned and flicked away the tears forming in his bloodshot eyes, "It's not gonna be the same around here without you, kiddo. For any of us..."

"Ha, who are you telling?" Barkley playfully grinned, nudging the wistful gazed hedgehog with his elbow. "You were the closest thing to family I ever really had, Barkley. I can't apologize enough for what happened. I should have-" Sonic began, only to be interrupted mid-sentence.

"Hey, hey. Don't talk like that. No amount of regrets can change my fate, the decision was entirely my own. Nothing that happened today was your fault," Charles Barkley consoled his grieving ally.

Sonic removed his head from between his knees to meet his adoptive son's earnest gaze. "I appreciate what you're trying to say and all, but you're just telling me what I want to hear," The hedgehog insisted with a groan. Barkley chuckled and rose to his feet, "Sometimes, that's what friends do. I love you, pep-pep. Take care of yourself, alright? Don't go and do anything stupid on my behalf."

Sonic stood, and his untrimmed chest hair fluttered wildly in the wind alongside his son. He turned to tearfully embrace the child of Michael Jordan, "Heh, you were always there to set me straight whenever I was about to do some stupid shit. Will I ever see you again, kid?"

The baller stroked the stubble upon his chin as he thought. "Probably not. But who knows? That George Washington, he works in ways we can't even comprehend. Take care of our stars and stripes, alright? I've really come to love this world in my short time on it. _See you around, Defender of America,"_ Charles Barkley spoke his final goodbyes with a tremulous smile. His body dispersed, vanishing into the ether to join his mother and father in the hallowed realm of the White House.

Sonic held Barkley's signature Spalding basketball close as he gazed out into the infinite expanse of the Americaverse. A single patriotic tear trickled down his unshaven face, "Somehow, somewhere, I'll see you again, Charles Barkley. _**God bless America**."_

"Sonic… what are you trying to say?" Abraham Lincoln rasped in a puzzled tone as the patriotic hedgehog relinquished the Communist-Slayer into his shaky hands. Sonic then donned his leather biker jacket and straddled his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle.

The angelic hum of his metallic steed roared into the night as he spoke, "Sorry that I had to wake you for this, but I just can't continue being here anymore. Carrying the fate of the entire Americaverse on my shoulders just ain't for me, rail-splitter. I've tried to make it work, but today I realized something: I was never cut out for this kinda life. I'm just not that kinda guy, no matter how bad I want to be."

"Sonic…" Honest Abe began, completely at a loss for words. The hedgehog placed his original axe-guitar back in its sheath and turned to his old friend. He solemnly lowered his head and sighed.

"I could never truly be someone so great, so selfless, and so patriotic. I understand that now. I'm just a simple man, I like heavy metal and chicks with big hooters. I'm an American that simply gets his kicks from slaying Communists, and I was only deluding myself whenever I believed I could be something greater. So, I'm going to depart just as quietly as I arrived. Tell the others I wish them well, alright? I came to tell you… _I'm leaving the Biker Brethren,"_ He said. _  
_

Abraham Lincoln smiled warmly, "You can tell them goodbye yourself, star-child." Sonic did a double take as he turned to see his steadfast allies standing before him. All of the Biker Brethren fell upon one knee, respectfully bowing before the patriotic hedgehog.

"Jeez, this is gonna sound gay as hell, but I wish you all the very best. I really do. Being among you made me feel like I had a home. That… that was something I had truly never felt before. If you ever happen upon me again, don't be a stranger. We'll light up a blunt and smoke some of that dank kush!" The hedgehog spoke for once in his life without a hint of genocidal anger in his voice. His brethren grinned wide as they rose to their feet. Unable to hold his tears back any longer, Garfield began to weep on Richard Nixon's shoulder.

"Don't forget, stars and stripes! Next time we meet, we're going to settle the score. Train hard, because I swear on my honor as a Communist that I'm not going to lose against you again!" Winnie the Pooh challenged, still bitter at both of his embarrassing losses against the patriotic warlord in battle.

"I'll be waiting, ye' foul Communist," Sonic cockily grinned. He rode off astride his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle and into the infinite heavens above, rocking out to heavenly screamo metal all the while.

"This feeling... what is this? I've never felt this way before. W-What's wrong with me?" Anne Frank nervously trembled, wiping the tears streaming down her face. Garfield smiled and wrapped his arm around her and laughed, "That's what we Americans feel, lass. You've always wanted to know what it is to be flesh and blood like us, right? To feel our emotions? Now you do. Our existence is shitty, nasty, and ugly as hell. But, for those few short moments where we meet someone special, it's all made worth it. That's what being an American is all about."

"So, this is hell? I've seen worse," Barack Obama observed nonchalantly. He stood waist-high in a lake of boiling lava amidst thousands of writhing, tortured souls that screamed in agony. Adam Sandler lustfully licked his lips and pinched his throbbing nipples as he emerged from the shadows. Drool coated his anemic chin as he crawled forwards, stalking him.

He saucily slinked towards the swart-skinned president before him and smacked his lips together, "Mmm, delicious American meat! It's been so long, yes! So long since I've had a nice, sodomized American to cradle with at night! I must have that sweet patriotic booty!" The depraved son of Karl Marx then unhinged his jaw like a mighty serpent. Barack Obama recoiled with horror as Adam Sandler lunged, preparing to feast.


	21. Adolf Hitler's Wrath

**THE TIME HAS ARRIVED FOR ANOTHER CHAPTER WHERE SONIC DOES NOT APPEAR. IF THIS IS OFFENSIVE TO YOUR RELIGION, PLEASE STOP READING NOW. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING.**

Adolf Hitler yawned as he reduced the town of Beach City to flaming rubble with a single energy beam. He outstretched his palms, proceeding to completely obliterate the American planetoid of Sheboygan IV from low orbit. With each new world annihilated in his wake, Adolf Hitler's already godlike strength continued to grow with no end in sight.

The wretched Führer pivoted his gaze to the stars, his eyes fixated upon a band of starships scrambling to flee from the site of his latest savage onslaught. The Nazi warlord bit down upon his lower lip and erected his middle finger to the heavens above, instantly wiping out their entire fleet and slaughtering thousands just to assuage his ever-growing boredom.

"Just one more planet stands between me and my rightful godhood: the Communist homeworld of _Wolfsschanze._ It would seem that the time has come for the king to once again reclaim his throne. It will be a shame to see my old palace go up in flames, but I suppose once the _Galactic Swastika_ is completed I will have no further need for such mortal distractions. Do you hear me, my old apprentice? Your master is coming home..." Hitler threatened with a sadistic grin, knowing full-well that Karl Marx had been gazing into the lower realms of the Americaverse and secretly tracking his every move. Garfield begins taking dinosaur hormones to become the velociraptor he truly is.

All of the pigment in the Marxist lord's pustule-covered skin disappeared as he hearkened upon Hitler's ominous words. He quaked with fear, hastily shattering his Crystal Basketball upon the obsidian floors of his inner keep in a rare moment of weakness. A look of true, primal terror spread across Karl Marx's face as he scrambled to cower pathetically behind his throne of American skulls, burdened with the knowledge that the Communist people could be driven to total extinction by Hitler if he were to exert even a fraction of his true potential.

Karl Marx tremulously turned to his scantily clad female servants, full of fear. He regained his composure and rose to his feet, "Gather together all of the Communist high priests and our mightiest warlords. The future of the Marxist empire depends upon it!"

Abraham Lincoln's star-spangled ferocity exploded in a frenzy of divine fuckrage as he rode forth atop his motorcycle, gracefully hacking away at the Marxist soldiers encircling the Jefferson Starship. The newly repaired Anne Frank parted great throngs of these close-serried warlords with her cybernetic might. As she fought, her bare body became bathed in a righteous deluge of Communist blood and all manner of fleshy viscera.

Garfield swung his chainsaw-nunchuks as he soared through the stars, screaming guttural profanities and impaling dozens of Communists upon the head of his veiny, feline chode. Norwegian speed metal blared from Richard Nixon's motorcycle as his chainsaw-guitar forged of Damascus steel collided with the turkey necks of the Leninist scum before him. Their severed heads went flying, and their disembodied physiognomy was stricken with a look of terror from his undeniably patriotic onslaught.

Abraham Lincoln's wizened face took on a mien of annoyance as the endless Communist hordes continued to swarm around his blameless kinsmen. The heavenly president clasped his hands together, crushing the invading Communist battle cruisers and all of their soldiers with his psychic prowess. Anne Frank is thrilled when her Sonic the Hedgehog body pillow arrives in the mail.

"That's the seventh Commie star fleet this month! We must've really struck a nerve when we killed those mutated Heffalump fuckers they sent after us," Winnie the Pooh observed with a frown. He shifted around in his custom-made latex pants, a garment that was specially designed to wick the constant flood of sweat trickling from his bear testicles.

Garfield bowed his head in agreement, "Aye, you've got a point there. We just can't seem to catch a break recently. It's funny, Sonic would have loved all of this genocide. 'Tis a damn shame he ran off on his own after what happened to poor Barkley. I wonder where the lad went off to?"

After a hearty feast and a long night of besotted debauchery for the Biker Brethren and their newfound allies, Abraham Lincoln retired himself to Barack Obama's personal study to finally go through his deceased ally's belongings. Lincoln took the time to reminisce about his glory days from before the Ameripocalypse, days where he fearlessly charged into the fray alongside Obama and mowed down any sodomous warlord that threatened his patriotic way of life.

"I take it you can't sleep either, Mr. President?" Guy Fieri inquired whilst applying more dye to his anime hair. He smiled, inviting himself in and resting his pudgy digits atop Lincoln's shoulder.

Honest Abe chuckled, "I may have inherited the position from Obama because of my demigod heritage, but you really don't have to call me the president. I hardly deserve to wear such a lofty title after all the things I've done in my time. It's just Abe Lincoln. Plain, simple Abe Lincoln."

"It still weighs heavily on you soul, doesn't it? The _Patriotic Fission,_ I mean," Guy Fieri questioned in a tremulous voice. Abraham Lincoln exhaled deeply as he was reminded of the great crimes against Washington-sama he had committed during the Communist Wars.

"I'm guessing Obama told you about that? I'm not surprised, he was never good at keeping secrets. All my life, I've been told what happened wasn't my fault. I submitted myself to those genetic experiments, wanting to help my country by creating the ultimate warrior to defend it. I could never have anticipated all of the ruin such a thing would cause. I've been told this comforting tale time and time again, but I never stop feeling responsible for the creation of Karl Marx and what came next. There's blood on my hands, old friend. Blood that I doubt I'll ever be able to truly wash away," Lincoln admitted his shame in a somber tone. He grimaced, recalling his assistance in the Harlem Globetrotters' impious experiments.

Honest Abe let out a light laugh as he returned to his usual jovial demeanor. The blameless patriot tightened around his waist the crimson habergeon passed down for generations by the deity Thomas Jefferson. He then turned to Guy Fieri as he girded his loins with the Life Fiber pelt of an alpha hellhound. He smiled, "At times like this, I'm always reminded of something my father, Tupac Shakur, once told me in my youth. When an American falls, there's only two options he can take: he can stand up and continue walking, or lie there and rot. I've lost my son, grandson, and two of my greatest allies in this wretched war. But in the name of George Washington, I'm sure as hell not going to stop walking. Not now, not ever!"

Guy Fieri was inspired by the unrelenting courage and star-spangled audacity of Honest Abe. He fell upon one knee as he pledged his eternal loyalty to this newly christened president. Abraham Lincoln roared into the night with thunderous laughter, and his heavenly guffawing could only be described as being akin to that of a righteous chorus of ten thousand angels or the coming of a flood to an eternally parched land.

The mighty patriot signaled for the humbled warlord afore him to rise to his feet. "Tell our troops to pack their bags, Guy Fieri-dono. I'm going to take this fight right to Karl Marx's doorstep and finally settle the unending war of our ancestors. Now that we know their location, we're going to rally every pocket of American resistance in the Patriotverse and invade the Communist homeworld!" He said.

"Shut the front door, Mr. President! A Marxist host of a few billion is no problem for our Americanesque soldiers, but Karl Marx's elite chieftains may prove to be an issue. Not to mention that Commie defector Donald Trump. Dwayne Johnson was barely able to escape with his life during their last encounter! With all due respect, we're hopelessly outnumbered _and_ outgunned," Guy Fieri caviled with a frown. Foolishly, he underestimated Abraham Lincoln's pimp-like chokehold over the raging forces of the multiverse. Dwayne Johnson loses his hairpiece in a freak accident. Nobody seems to notice.

"Forsooth, I do not love the guitar for its rock, nor do I love the motorcycle for its swiftness. Nay, I love them for the freedom they bestow upon we humble warriors and our American kinsmen! Americans are still Americans and Communists are still Communists, my golden haired friend. In time, all evil must come to face George Washington's divine judgement! I have a plan to rid ourselves of the traitor within the Biker Brethren's ranks and the last remaining member of Karl Marx's children with one decisive victory. Will you help me see it through?" Abraham Lincoln propositioned with a warm smile, outstretching his wizened digits towards Guy Fieri.

The culinary warlord grinned and eagerly nodded his head, "You're like a blackjack dealer at the Flavortown casino, comrade. I'd gladly follow you into the depths of hell, Mr. President!"

"The Americans, Communists, and Hitler are all preparing for another war. Of all the times to be trapped in hell, why now?" Barack Obama bemoaned. His lips contorted into a sullen pout as he paced around in circles in the flaming bowels of the underworld. Obama winced as he heard a sickening crunching noise coming from behind him.

He turned to watch as Adam Sandler trod heavily upon the mountains of gnarled bones that made up the foundation of this forsaken realm. He let out a sigh, "Er, Adam Sandler, wasn't it? I appreciate that you spared my life and all, but it really isn't necessary for you to follow me around. Trust me."

"Yes, yes! Adam Sandler is used to being beast of burden, yes he is! But Sandler must follow! Terrible war, much killings, great darkness for Americans and Communists ahead. Sandler has seen in his visions: _Hitler becomes god!_ And then, two Hitlers! Americans, their fault it is! Everything, their fault! Future man tried to stop it, but failed he did! All very confusing, yes!" Adam Sandler snarled and sputtered incoherently. He slinked ahead, wiping away the strands of drool and mucus foaming from his face as he jerkily scampered around upon all-fours.

Barack Obama recoiled with disgust as the deranged son of Karl Marx took his trembling hands into his own, forcefully leading this swart-skinned warrior priest on a winding path through the endless catacombs of the underworld. "In Adam Sandler's dream, black president was there! He must fulfill prophecy, must! No time for sodomizing sweet American boypussy, no! If Adam Sandler brought president to father, he could help prevent the darkness! He could stop Hitler! Yes, very clever! Very clever of Adam Sandler!" He wheezed.

Barack Obama dug his heels into volcanic soil beneath to stop them. "Wait, hold on! How do you intend to get us out of hell, anyway? That is, assuming what you say has any truth to it. Karl Marx is in another dimension entirely!" He pointed out.

A sickening grin spread across Adam Sandler's face as he assertively hurried Obama onward, "No, no! Don't worry, black president. There are others here who can help us, yes! Adam Sandler knows safe paths through hell. But, Sandler has trouble remembering. Does Adam Sandler take left or right near the rotting corpses? One path leads to fiery death, can't remember which one. Big problem, yes?"

"Trapped with Adam Sandler for all of eternity. This must really be hell after all..." Barack Obama groaned under his breath. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared off into the endless, red expanse of the netherworld.


	22. The Rise of the Wu-Tang Clan

**I'M HOLDING A POLL TO DECIDE WHO THE MOST POPULAR SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA CHARACTER IS. SEND ME YOUR VOTES IN THE FORM OF A PRIVATE MESSAGE. (NOTE: ANY VOTE THAT ISN'T FOR ADAM SANDLER WILL NOT BE COUNTED)**

 _Days until Adolf Hitler arrives: 7_

"This is the first time in over fifteen generations that the entire _Quorum of Communism_ has been summoned. You better have a good reason for dragging us here, Karl Marx! I was busy organizing the American death camps on Proxima III when you called me here," The haughty Chairman Mao sputtered with a guttural growl. Many of the Communist generals and high priests sitting athwart from him nodded their heads in agreement.

Karl Marx furrowed his brow in annoyance. He noisily raked his hammer and sickle across his obsidian conference table to silence the building clamor from his arrogant servants. Garfield and Richard Nixon bond, deciding to open a food truck serving only lasagna together.

"Silence, all of you! As we speak, the reborn Adolf Hitler is on his way here to destroy us. If we don't intervene, all that we've worked for in these past thousand years shall be for naught. Our legacy will be entirely eradicated overnight, and the bourgeois American scum will surely hunt any survivors of Hitler's wrath to extinction. If we cannot stop this within one week, the end of the Communist race shall be upon us!" Karl Marx foreboded in an irritated tone of voice.

The newly cloned Adam Sandler II cowered with fear, hiding under his father's dark robes. The Marxist lord then used his wretched dweomercraft to show his distrusting council the aftermath of Hitler's genocide, an appalling sight which did not augur well for the future of the Communist Manifesto.

"Forgive my ignorance, but isn't Adolf Hitler our ally? Thousands of yahrens ago he helped your people defeat the Americans in the wars. I'll admit, his penchant for mass murder impresses even me. Can't we use this against the American armies?" The sadistic pyro Donald Trump questioned, having been inducted into Marx's inner circle after the untimely death of Taylor Swift. Donald Trump secretly dreams of being a Crystal Gem.

Karl Marx solemnly shook his head, "Adolf Hitler was a leader for a less civilized time, you see. He's an unstoppable spirit of destruction who craves only death and godless savagery, he always has been. For generations, our people anticipated that he'd eventually turn to his own kind to assuage his unending bloodlust. Our pride has blinded us to the possibility that our holy empire was anything but invincible, and now it seems we're about to pay the price for our hubris. The only question that remains is how to stop him before it's too late..."

The Communist general Neil deGrasse Tyson cleared his throat and offered his solution, "Hear me out, m'niggaz: we'll use cosmos and all dat dank shit, y'knowmsayin? Dat muhfugga won't know what hit him when we be throwin' stars n' singularities n' shit. Shit be real nigga cosmology, ya feelin' me?"

Karl Marx reloaded his glock and blew Neil deGrasse Tyson's head off with one clean shot. "Alright, does anyone _else_ have a better idea?" He groaned.

Sonic slept upon a heap of blood drenched wolverine skulls. After leaving the Biker Brethren, he had decided to bivouac for the night on the distant planetoid of Monticello Gamma. The patriotic hedgehog tossed and turned in his sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness as the events of the past several months he had desperately tried to repress came back to haunt him.

"You promised me you would take care of Charles Barkley, Sonic. _Why did you let him die?"_ Michael Jordan emerged from the cover of the night. His rotting, gangrenous flesh chipped away right before Sonic's eyes as the quaking hedgehog turned to meet his icy gaze.

Sonic thrust his head between his legs in fear, "You're not real, none of this is real! I loved Charles Barkley, he was the closest thing I've ever had to family. I couldn't have changed what happened. It… it was out of my control!" Charles Barkley then appeared next to his deceased father. Blood streamed from his basketball jersey as Beast Swift emerged from the ether, digging her putrefying fangs into his torso.

"You're just saying that to run away from your guilt, Sonic. You're the only one responsible for my death. As a father, you failed me. As an American, you failed your country. Are you no better than your father, Tails the Fox? Will you just run and hide from your guilt and pain like he did?" Charles Barkley questioned as he stood over his adoptive father. The hedgehog retched, turning away from the horrible sight of his fallen comrades.

Adolf Hitler snapped Garfield's neck with a sickening pop, and a devious smile formed upon his lifeless face as he turned and crushed Abraham Lincoln's jaw under his boot. "Tell us: who are you, Sonic the Hedgehog?" He asked. "I'm… I'm an American that slays Communists!" Sonic cautiously opened his eyes and pivoted his gaze to his undead persecutors.

Adolf Hitler erupted with noisome laughter, "Slaying Communists is what you _do,_ not who you are. Who are you, Sonic of the clan Hedgehog? Do you know of your heritage, of the spirit that dwells within you? _Do you really know?"_ Sonic parted his pursed lips, finding himself completely at a loss for words to answer Adolf's piercing question. He felt himself slip away, steadily drifting from his striking hallucinations. _"Who are you, Sonic the Hedgehog?"_

The star-spangled hedgehog bolted awake in a cold sweat. He rolled over, half expecting to see the smiling face of Charles Barkley by his side. "Damn, same nightmare again? It's the same old shit every time, and it always ends the exact same way. Why does Hitler keep showing up? I've never even met the damn guy. Have my adventures really fucked me up this bad? I guess I should lay off of the goddamn booze for a while," Sonic groggily mused between his flagrant swearing. He let out a deep sigh and poured out his flask of Pabst Blue Ribbon on the dewy grass.

The besotted hedgehog turned over to reach for his stash of pocky lent to him by Garfield. He rocked out to a screeching deathcore melody and tore his shirt asunder, beginning his daily regiment of ten billion push ups. Such is the only appropriate workout routine for an American warrior.

"Pardon me, brother-man. You're Sonic the Hedgehog, right?" A swarthy figure armed with a pair of weaponized iron fists towered over the American warlord. The man was accompanied by three other warriors that began to menacingly encircle the sweaty hedgehog, standing over him.

Sonic was seemingly nonplussed by this posse of intimidating mercenaries. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and continued his diligent training without interruption. "I'll take that as a yes. Howdy, my name is _RZA._ Nothing personal, but there's a huge bounty on your head and we could really use the cash. We've come here to kill you," The man explained.

"Not this shit again," Sonic crinkled his eyes and exhaled deeply. He soared thousands of feet into the red sky with a single bound as his foes unloaded the full forces of their thirty six chambered gatling guns. RZA's ichorous flesh flared with a fiery aura as he pursued and jumped after him. He came to blows with his star-spangled adversary in the heavens above, shocking Sonic with his superhuman strength.

"Protect ya neck, fucker!" RZA roared, charging at Sonic with his golden cutlass unsheathed. Sonic struggled to keep pace with this Wu-Tang warrior's Shaolin discipline and hard hitting chessboxing prowess. The sheer power from these sweaty warlords' fists colliding sent righteous shock waves throughout the Patriotverse, and each of their concurrent blows destroyed several lesser galaxies in the process.

Sonic's intense fight was interrupted by a ferocious salvo of cannon fire erupting from the countryside below. The hedgehog and his assassin squinted their eyes as they peered down upon a battalion of Communists soldiers gathering hundreds of miles beneath their feet. Adam Sandler's internet history contains ten thousand searches for the term 'granny trannies.'

"Communists... I fucking hate those guys!" Sonic and RZA grumbled together in unison. Their eyes widened in surprise, and they turned towards each other at the realization of their mutual enemy.

Sonic gritted his teeth and tried to contain his excitement over the impending Marxist genocide. His body became wreathed in flames as he plummeted headfirst into the planet's stratosphere, "Knock knock, open up the door, it's real! Wit' the non-stop, pop-pop n' stainless steel! How about you salubrious niggaz help me destroy these red bastards so we can finish our little fight?"

With an unspoken agreement, the Wu-Tang Clan charged into battle alongside the brazen hedgehog to fight against this Communist host of ten thousand strong. Sonic snapped the neck of the Communist general _Gary Coleman_ with his rugged digits. He then grinned from ear to ear as he scraped the Marxist flesh from his guitar and bolted back into the battlefield. "So, who are you guys, anyway? You're not Communists, and you're obviously not Americans. If I'm gonna kill you later, I should at least get your names," He asked.

RZA smirked and pummeled his baseborn foes into the earth beneath with his cybernetic fists. "You really don't hold anything back, do you? If you have to know, we call ourselves the _Wu-Tang Clan._ We're from the far off planet of _Wu-Tang Prime,_ a nonaligned world that distanced itself from the conflicts of both Americans and Communists for thousands of generations. That is, until we were exiled many moons ago after the great war..." He began to speak.

"Alright, I take back my question. You don't have to tell me anymore of this shit-" Sonic began with an exasperated breath, only to be cut off mid-sentence as RZA continued.

"To my left is _Ol' Dirty Bastard,_ a shōgun warlord and my right hand man. He's a boss pimp like no other! Along with my good friend GZA, he taught me the Tao of Wu and helped me discover true enlightenment when I was at my lowest. To him, I would gladly lay down my own life," RZA orated with a sly grin. Sonic watched on in astonishment as ODB gracefully cleaved his foes asunder with his dual Liquid Swords, utterly decimating them.

"To my right is _Ghostface Killah._ He's a powerful negromancer and is well-practiced in the arcane art of Shadowboxing," RZA noted as he savagely mauled dozens of Marxist soldiers. Sonic beheld Ghostface Killah's otherworldly talents from the sidelines, watching as he summoned an army of undead soldiers to his command.

"And finally, the last member of our clan is _Method Woman,_ daughter of the late _Method Man._ Many say that she walks in a world beyond our own and can foresee all of the coming events of the near and distant future, including her own death. Regardless of the truth behind those rumors, her telekinetic powers will certainly make you believe, brother. She's superior than any American, that's for sure!" RZA guffawed with a smug simper.

He grabbed Sonic by the arm and forced him to the dirt for his own safety. A righteous inferno billowed to the stars above as Method Woman ignited all of the Communist survivors, inducing spontaneous combustion upon them and burning them all to cinders.

Sonic was thoroughly impressed by Method Woman's genocidal expertise. He lustfully stroked his metallic member as he ran to properly introduce himself to this prospective semen-demon. Method Woman narrowed her cold gaze as Sonic took her hands into his own, seemingly looking past the hedgehog as she intently scrutinized this patriotic hell-lord's very soul.

She widened her pupil-less eyes and began to speak, "Thus, shall it come to pass: the reborn soul who knows not of his own name shall become two, and the twin displaced by time shall swallow he who spoke the first words and learn of the truth beyond every truth. The existence of the scorned child's manifesto shall come to a close in the days soon to follow, but in time it shall begin anew in ways still yet uncertain. Hearken upon my warning, Sonic the Hedgehog: if you travel to Wolfsschanze, you will find exactly who you've been dreaming of, _and then you will die."_

"...That's one hell of a greeting. Did you get any of that?" Sonic questioned RZA in a tremulous voice, somewhat unsettled by Method Woman's ominous prophecies.

"I'm impressed, brother. Usually we can't even get a word out of her! But don't put too much thought into what she says. If you ask me, most of it is just nonsense and riddles. If she said anything important, you'll figure it out in due time," RZA reassured the disquieted warlord. He then assisted his comrades in sifting through the battlefield for any valuables or spoils they could find from the heated conflict.

Sonic slowly slunk away in hopes of finishing his duel with RZA. He turned back to Method Woman as she quietly gestured for his attention, "If you seek meaning, listen to the music, not the song."

"It's clear that we cannot simply overpower Hitler, even with the full forces of our armies. I propose that we utilize the chaos magick of the Mein Kampf to cloak Wolfsschanze, rendering it invisible to the untrained eye. If Adolf cannot find us, then he cannot destroy us. Simple, right?" The supercilious Rosa Luxemburg proposed her plan to the council.

Karl Marx and his loyal grandmasters turned to each other, discussing the merits of such a bold strategy. The technological genius Leon Trotsky snarled with contempt, "You would propose such a cowardly plot, you bitch-ass changeling. Even Americans have more backbone than the members of this spineless council! On another note, why do you still take that shape? You're not a woman."

Rosa Luxemburg bit down on her tongue, transforming into a perfect facsimile of Trotsky just to spite him. She smirked playfully, "Sometimes I am."

"Dr. Mengele! You're late, as usual. I oughta' give you a negro restraining order for making us wait so long. Baka! Idiot! Shithead!" Friedrich Engels groused and folded his arms, watching on as a gangly figure swaddled in a lab coat stained with American blood awkwardly shuffled into the inner chamber of Karl Marx's keep.

Adam Sandler II frothed wildly from the mouth at the sight of Mengele, contorting with terror. His disgruntled father kept him on a tight leash to contain his feral fuckfury. Marx turned to Mengele and cracked a sly grin, "Ah, the Angel of Death finally decides to make his appearance. You've yet to disappoint me, Josef. I trust you have a solution for our dilemma?"

Dr. Mengele lowered his head and laughed throatily. While unmistakably a living being, Mengele's jerky, awkward movements came off unsettlingly inhuman in nature, like a machine's poor attempt at replicating a living being. The joints in his neck creaked as he jerkily turned to look at his allies with a haunting, blank stare.

"Of course I do, my lord. In fact, I brought it with me. I would like to present to this noble council the perfect union of both Communist and American, made possible thanks to the genetic samples retrieved by Kevin James during his mission. He is the perfect warrior, completely impervious to all pain and fatigue. I call him… **_Charles Darkley_** _!_ _"_ Dr. Mengele licked his lips and shuffled to the side, revealing the results of his damnable experiments against patriot-kind: a perfect clone of the late _Charles Barkley,_ now loyal only to the wretched forces of Communism.


	23. And The Rock Cried Out: No Hiding Place

**MY WIFE DOES NOT APPROVE OF ME WRITING EROTIC FANFICTION ABOUT SONIC THE HEDGEHOG. I HAVE FILED FOR A DIVORCE. I'M TAKING ALL OF THE AMERICAN FLAGS WITH ME.**

 _Days until Adolf Hitler arrives: 6_

Super Sonic soared at unimaginable speeds across the heavenly bodies of the Americaverse. He threw a furious combination of punches, and his flaming fists impacted Super Adolf Hitler's face with an intensity that could only be described as being akin to ten trillion supernovae erupting in a glorious hellfire of star-spangled might. The ichorous veins of this unutterably monolithic Führer's skin flared with nazi fuckrage as he was struck. Adolf clasped the entire Milky Way galaxy in his meaty fists as he countered and sucker-punched the brazen hedgehog, sending him through thousands of asteroid belts.

Super Sonic was mercilessly pulverized across countless parsecs before regaining his balance at the horizon of a gravitational singularity. The patriotic warlord then bayed towards the stars with his angelic death metal screeching. He lunged forwards, assaulting Super Hitler with an unending maelstrom of planets fired from his machine gun cock like bullets. Super Sonic bellowed with blind patriotic hellfury, summoning divine astral fuckflames from the heavens above to slay the fuck out of Super Hitler.

"Impossible! How could lowly American scum like you master such a vast amount of strength? I am a _GOD!"_ Adolf Hitler boomed with a guttural snarl as he unleashed his full potential, becoming bathed in a godless fuckinferno of astral chaos energy. Super Hitler continued to tumefy and rise in stature, and his transcendental vessel soon came to utterly dwarf Super Sonic as he expanded to the size of the entire Americaverse itself.

"Adam Sandler! What's wrong?" Obama hurriedly questioned, attempting to snap his enigmatic guide out of the trance he had fallen into. Sandler's already anemic skin became a deathly pale as he turned to Barack, struggling to catch his breath.

He trembled as he spoke, "Adam Sandler's visions are becoming more clear each day, yes! Not good, _not good!_ Very bad things are upon the Americaverse, very bad! Quickly, follow Adam Sandler! Black president must escape this place and help prevent Ameripocalypse!"

"Father, you called for Sandler? Yes?" Adam Sandler II nervously blubbered as he slunk on all-fours into Karl Marx's inner chambers. Karl Marx wistfully gazed out from the zenith of his iron keep. His ratty beard swayed in the wind as he watched his devoted soldiers prepare, arming themselves for an utterly suicidal fight against the father of lies.

Adam Sandler stood athwart from his father, gazing in awe as great machines of war were erected to the heavens above in preparation for Hitler's impending arrival. He then lowered his head to watch the millions of Marxist soldiers that toiled in the smouldering pits beneath the iron cities of Wolfsschanze. In time, every able-bodied man, woman, and child would take up arms to fight for the sake of the Communist manifesto's future. Richard Nixon tries to commit suicide by baking himself in the microwave. He fails.

Karl Marx managed a mirthless smile as he turned to his cloned son, "The Americans have a saying: _the future is always born in pain._ For the future of our people, our family, I've endured and caused unimaginable pain. Now, that I'm at the end of this journey, I can only question whether all of the suffering I've wrought has been worth it. We are a dying people, my son. We have become so obsessed with death that we've forgotten what we were killing for in the first place. And now, I fear we are about to pay the price."

"But, Americans! Started war they did! If we don't kill filthy Americans, they destroy Communist race! Yes! Father is helping his people, Sandler knows. Karl Marx, good and wise ruler!" Adam Sandler II jerkily sputtered and contorted his rotting fangs into a half-hearted smile, attempting to please his crestfallen master.

"They may have started the war, but we are the ones who perpetuated it for thousands of years. Shall we continue until there are no more Americans and no more Communists? Who and what started this cycle of hatred will be irrelevant if we both destroy ourselves and all of creation with us," Karl Marx observed and puckered his brow. He knelt down, playfully ruffling the wispy hairs atop his son's head and showing him the first sign of compassion he had felt in years.

He sighed, "I've become blinded with hate, son. Hatred for what the Americans did to your mother and the rest of our kind. Hatred for the Harlem Globetrotters for creating me. It's funny, now that I'm thinking about it. My eyes have opened and have seen the truth at the very moment when we can no longer change this cruel fate. That George Washington, he has quite the sense of humor, doesn't he?"

"I'd like to thank you again for showing us this place, old friend. The next phase in our war against the socialist menace will require the utmost secrecy for it to be successful. You're sure that there has never been a Communist presence here, right?" Abraham Lincoln inquired in a hushed tone of voice. He dismounted from his motorcycle, running ahead and ushering his fellow compatriots into a dilapidated barn.

Garfield eagerly nodded his head. "Of course, lad! I've always come to U.S. Acres to lay low whenever those Commie bastards were searching for me. You can trust Orson and his crew to keep this all quiet," He reassured him. Dwayne Johnson turned up his nose in disgust as he watched Wade Duck snort cocaine off of an unconscious hooker.

"They're a little bit strange, I'll admit. Many Americans didn't exactly take the Ameripocalypse as well as we did," Garfield confessed with a deep sigh. He sat next to Roy Rooster and fixated his gaze upon Honest Abe as he prepared to give his speech. Ghostface Killah won't stop trying to summon the spirit of Bill Cosby.

Honest Abe exhaled deeply, and his kinsmen grew silent to hearken upon his divine wisdom. "By now, I'm sure you all know of the threat the Communist menace poses to the safety of our people. By day, American-kind inches closer and closer to extinction. It's become clear that we can no longer safely wage a war with the blood of our own race. For this reason, I propose we bring a new force into the war to fight on our behalf," Abraham Lincoln began with an uncharacteristically grave tone of voice. The Biker Brethren and their allies leaned forward, intently listening to his wise words.

"For generations, Russia is the only major power in the Americaverse that has remained neutral in this war. Starting today, that is about to change. We have disguised the Jefferson Starship as a Communist vessel, and we plan to destroy one of the outlying Russian colonies on the borders of their space. Once this day is over, we shall have another force fighting on the side of Lady Liberty," Lincoln concluded.

The Biker Brethren stood aghast from his proposal. "Lincoln, what the hell are you doing? This is our war, you can't force another race to fight and die for us! You'll kill _millions!"_ Richard Nixon snarled. Anne Frank and Guy Fieri restrained this sweaty warlord, preventing him from lunging at Honest Abe.

Lincoln furrowed his brow and turned his cold gaze away from Tricky Dick. "I'll gladly pay any price for the liberation of my people. Americans are dying on the front lines every day! We have no time for worrying about the finer points of morality. The cost for the salvation of our race is only a few million dead foreigners and my self respect. If you ask me, that sounds like a bargain," He said.

Mercenary Winnie the Pooh crinkled his eyes in disapproval, "I'm a Communist, and even I think this plan is going too damn far! Whatever you're doing, I sure as hell hope you'll be able to live with it."

Guy Fieri beat his staff against the wooden floor, conjuring a holographic image of the Jefferson Starship lying in wait in orbit of the planet Moscow Centauri. "NO!" Richard Nixon pleaded in a desperate voice, watching in horror as the planet's entire surface was bombed from space into smouldering, lifeless slag.

In an instant, millions of innocent lives were reduced to ash. The billowing inferno rose to the stars above, reeking with wanton death. Tricky Dick flicked away the tears welling up in his wizened eyes and stormed out of the barn as the Biker Brethren watched the aftermath of their calculated strike. "Do you think he took the bait?" Guy Fieri questioned Lincoln in a hushed voice. The president solemnly bowed his head and fondled the ashen hairs upon his chin.

"For our sake, I hope so. If everything goes to plan and we were correct about our suspicions, Nixon will be provoked into revealing himself as the traitor by contacting his Communist allies about our actions. When Karl Marx sends the last of his 'children' to Nixon's aide, we will take them both out with one decisive strike," Honest Abe further detailed his daring strategy. He raised his hand, signalling for Guy Fieri to dissolve the illusions he had conjured with his culinary leechcraft.

"Damned Americans. After all we've been through, you still won't let me in on your plans? You could have at least told me all of that was fake!" Mercenary Pooh caviled disapprovingly at the Americans' secrecy.

Garfield couldn't help but chuckle at Pooh's misfortune, "Sorry about that, laddy. We couldn't risk the off chance that Nixon would figure out what we were planning. We needed him to truly believe that we would commit an atrocity like that. Though, I can't help but feel bad about all of this. Richard Nixon has been loyal to our order for hundreds of years. Can a man really change so quickly? It's just so hard to believe..."

"I would love to believe all of this was just a terrible misunderstanding, but those transmissions to Karl Marx we recently intercepted seem to say otherwise. All of the facts point to him being the traitor. Perhaps his work spying for the Communists during the wars affected him more than we realized?" Anne Frank nervously shook her head, just as much in a state of disbelief as Garfield was.

Dwayne Johnson lowered his head, lost in deep introspection. He parted his lips and began to speak, "When the world catches on fire, there'll be no hiding place. When the waters start boiling, there'll be no hiding place. No hiding place on the mountain, no hiding place in the waters. For Communists, _there's no hiding place down here."_

Guy Fieri tugged Lincoln on the arm before he could exit the building. "Lincoln, I need to know something. If it came down to it... would you really be willing to do something like that? Like the scenario you came up with for this plan? Would you truly be willing to go that far in this war?" He asked.

"Goodnight, Guy Fieri," Lincoln turned away, refusing to answer his question. "Lincoln..." Guy Fieri watched as the president silently walked off into the night. He lowered his gaze and sighed, "Hopefully, it will never come down to that. But, if this plan doesn't work, I fear that Lincoln will lose what little is holding him together. He's lost so much, and any normal American would have already crumbled from that kind of grief. One more tragedy could make him snap..."

"Is this what you meant all along when you told me to destroy the Biker Brethren, father? Does the path they've taken lead us all to damnation? Forgive me, everyone. I had hoped this day would never come, that I would never have to send all of you to your certain deaths. I had wanted to find a more peaceful solution. But now, it seems I'm out of options. I can't let the future be destroyed, _not again!"_ Once he reached a safe distance, Richard Nixon cautiously rolled up his sleeve and activated his subdermal wrist-communicator. "Karl Marx? It's Richard Nixon. We need to speak, it's extremely urgent. The future of your empire depends upon it."


	24. Conspiracy of the Harlem Globetrotters

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - THE ANIME INTRO**

 **Adam Sandler looks wistfully into the sunrise. A single tear rolls down his cheek. His hair blows wildly in the wind, and he holds a single rose in his trembling hand. Cue song:** _ **Where the Hood At** **(Nightcore)**_

 _Days until Adolf Hitler arrives: 5_

"Don't think of it as a massacre. I'm just here to make America great again," Donald Trump mused with a depraved simper. He writhed with orgasmic pleasure as he burned Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids alive with his pyromancy, reducing them all to a heap of smoking flesh. Charles Darkley lowered his head in approval and incinerated their corpses with a flaming slam dunk. Garfield is distraught that Bailey Jay won't answer his calls.

"Not bad, not bad. We make quite a team, you and I. The flames we'll craft together will be gorgeous!" Donald Trump playfully nudged his stalwart comrade. Charles Darkley rolled his eyes in exasperation. He pulled up his sleeve, activating the subdermal comlink on his palm. "I trust you completed the mission as I asked, my children?" The twisted Dr. Mengele inquired.

Charles Darkley nodded his head in response. "We did just as you asked, master. All of the Communist border outposts along Wolfsschanze have been eliminated," Darkley confirmed. Donald Trump pranced around the room, trying to stifle his sadistic glee from the carnage they had wrought.

Dr. Mengele grinned wide. His frail, anemic body awkwardly contorted as he drew closer to the screen to speak, "Our associates, the _Harlem Globetrotters,_ will be most pleased! You have done well. Without any advanced warning from the defense grid, Wolfsschanze will fall to the Americans and the Communists and their world will be eradicated. After they're out of the way, we can enter the next phase of the benefactor's project. Soon, Adolf Hitler will be reborn..."

"I'll give it to you Americans. You may be shit at fighting, but you can sure as hell cook!" RZA engorged himself with another Ball Park® Frank. Sonic narrowed his eyes, standing by while RZA and his kinsmen continued to voraciously stuff themselves with his bountiful food rations.

Ol' Dirty Bastard concentrated to keep his third eye opened, astral projecting his spirit across the infinite span of the Americaverse. "Pull down them granny panties an' turn around fer me, baby…" Ol' Dirty Bastard cackled with a sly grin, abusing his puissant divination abilities by remotely spying upon the realms beneath.

"Brother, your shameless behavior is hardly fitting for a disciple of the Wu-God. A true man would never do that!" Ghostface Killah glowered from behind his hockey mask. He turned away from his elder sibling, returning to his futile attempts of summoning the lesser helldaemon _Baphomet._ Such is how a level ten negromancer spends most of his nights.

"Man, I'm startin' to regret not killing you people," Sonic folded his arms and watched as Method Woman scarfed down the last of his pocky. The hedgehog frowned, "Alright, I shared all of my food and duckets with you Sanford and Son-lookin' fuckers. It's time for you to hold up your end of the bargain and tell me what you're all doing on this end of the patriotverse. That is, unless you'd prefer my star-spangled foot up your ass."

"Chill out, brother-man. We're all cool here, I was just getting to that. Here, let's hotbox this place while I tell you the whole story, from the beginning," RZA beamed wide and handed Sonic a dimebag of _Wu-ijuana,_ a special strain of ganja grown only inside of the legendary _Wu-Mansion._

Sonic narrowed his bloodshot eyes as he toked from his joint. He exhaled deeply as he began to relax, "Alright, you've got my attention. This story better have lots of genocide and sluts with big hooters!"

RZA put aside his Hookah pipe and laughed, "What if I told you that, long ago, I was once an emperor who ruled over millions?" Sonic furrowed his brow, "I'd say that I'd booger hook you back to Frisco for telling shit, Sodom and Gonorrhea." Adam Sandler can't decide what kind of tramp stamp he wants to get.

"It's all true, brother. Any of the clan will vouch for me. I once presided over the fortress city of the Wu-Mansion after the untimely death of my father, working to protect the blameless people of the planet Wu-Tang Prime. That is, until the Juggalo armies came and ravaged our world," RZA began with an exasperated sigh.

He could remember it just as clearly as he did twenty yahrens before. The heavens opened up like the maw of a mighty hellhound, and the earth beneath become benighted and swept away in the blackness. Billions of invading vessels swarmed in the red skies above, blotting out the sun with their incalculable numbers and enshrouding menace.

"They came without warning in the night. I'll never forget the screams as I beheld the world beneath my palace engulfed in flames. I was powerless to do anything to help. The _Juggalos_ were a wretched people, not unlike your Communists. They bathed themselves in corpse paint, blared their deafening horrorcore music, and guzzled their acidic Faygo while slaughtering my kind. The gathering of the Juggalos destroyed my world," RZA bowed his head with shame. Ol' Dirty Bastard shared his grief, resting a comforting hand atop his shoulder. Anne Frank covers herself in melted butter for no real reason.

"We soon found ourselves on the losing side of the war. As a last ditch effort, we led a final charge against the Juggalo hordes, a great legion led by the most twisted and vile generals of all of their race: _Shaggy 2 Dope_ and _Violent J,"_ RZA continued. He recalled the proud warriors at his command charging into battle, fighting against the endless throngs of the Insane Clown Posse.

Violent J swung his barbed mace with a barbaric fervor, parting the waves of armored Wu-Soldiers from before his beady gaze as he burgeoned forth. RZA trod over the fallen bodies of his kinsmen, slaying the subhuman host encircling him with his Wu-Tang sword style. He fell to his knees, roaring into the red sky the ancient battle cry of his forefathers, _"Bring da' motherfuckin' ruckus!"_

Shaggy 2 Dope skewered GZA upon the earth beneath, bisecting his body down the middle with his crimson hatchet. The bells of war chimed as Ol' Dirty Bastard lacerated hundreds of his Faygo-guzzling adversaries, and Raekwon soon joined in the onslaught with his twin battle axes. Inspectah Deck darted across the battlefield riding astride his war-velociraptor, trampling over dozens of Juggalo berserkers as he arrived to support his allies.

RZA stood alone as he stared down Shaggy 2 Dope. His energy was spent and his armor was splintered, and he wielded nothing but a pair of iron fists to defend himself with. "That day, our foes learned that the Wu-Tang Clan weren't nothin' to fuck with," RZA smiled, recalling how he slaughtered the mighty Juggalo warmaster and rended him limb from limb with his bare hands. "The battle was won, but the war continued. Our clan was crippled, and only myself and three others survived that day. My people were eventually overwhelmed, and our homeworld was unable to fight back any longer. Soon, all was lost."

RZA took another toke from his joint and continued, "Rather than surrender, we went into exile. We never forgave the Juggalos, nor did we forget their atrocities. Every day since we've spent our time learning of the martial arts of other cultures, working to amass the funds and resources for another expedition to liberate our homeworld from the Insane Clown Posse. That is our mission, my American friend. What's yours?"

Sonic shrugged and shook his head, "Once, I thought I knew. But, that was before I realized just how powerless I was. I couldn't stop those I cared about from being killed. I learned of a horrible conspiracy and lost faith in the thing I trusted most. I'm now on a quest to find my sensei, _Colonel Sanders._ He's the man who taught me everything I know. Maybe he can help me sort my shit out."

"You are not yet ready to understand who you are. When you learn, it will be the end of us all," Method Woman expounded in a cold voice. She knelt down, taking another hit from Ghostface Killah's bong. Sonic and RZA turned to each other, both unable to come up with a valid explanation for her latest cryptic warning. ODB's elven ears perked as he espied a group of shady figures skulking about in the distance. The grizzled warrior unsheathed his liquid swords, preparing for a brawl.

"What do you see? Nigga, I'm too blazed out of my mind to keep up with what's going on anymore," Sonic grumbled and took out his machete. He turned uncharacteristically silent as he felt the barrel of a chainsaw machine gun hewn from grizzly bear bones brush against the back of his skull. The feeling of such a weapon was unmistakable for any worshiper of the divine George Washington. "Unless you want me to shoot your shit, you'd best keep quiet and come with us," The stranger ordered.

"Alright, this is far enough. Take off their blindfolds!" A voice unknown to Sonic and his chessboxing allies barked with a commanding presence. The hedgehog crinkled his eyes as the blinding light of his captors' hideout flooded his senses, overwhelming him. Sonic stood aghast as his vision cleared, instantly recognizing the moonfaced countenance of the hulking figure standing before him.

"You… you're _Kevin James!_ You were there when Charles Barkley and the president were killed! You sewer-chewing Commie bastard!" The patriotic hedgehog bayed with star-spangled niggerfury. He lunged, effortlessly tearing his shackles asunder and mercilessly pulverizing Kevin James with his cybernetic gun-chode. The hedgehog's maelstrom of righteous dick slaps was interrupted as Richard Nixon stormed into the chamber, forcefully restraining his ill-tempered ally.

"Sonic, stop! You're among friends here! He's one of us!" Tricky Dick vehemently insisted, forcing his star-spangled compatriot to back down. Kevin James wiped the stream of blood dribbling from his lip. He then rose to his feet, flicking away the dust covering his gilded robes. "Your friend is right, Sonic. I would like to apologize for all of the secrecy, we couldn't risk the chance of letting the location of our alliance's secret base fall into the wrong hands. Also, Kevin James was my Communist name. Call me _Paul Blart,"_ He spoke with a welcoming smile. _  
_

"You see, like Dwayne Johnson, Paul Blart was a victim of Karl Marx's twisted experiments on the American people; one of only five known to have survived the procedure. However, Marx created him with an unforeseen flaw: he kept all of his memories as an American, from his birth to his time as a humble mall cop. Because of this, he's been an invaluable asset to the cause of our resistance," Richard Nixon expounded in his usual gruff voice. Paul Blart glumly bowed his head in response.

Sonic glowered suspiciously towards Paul Blart and Nixon, first at one and then the other. He frowned, "You helped kill the president just so you wouldn't blow your cover? Some fuckin' patriot you are. Also, what's this whole alliance thing he mentioned?"

Paul Blart pivoted his gaze towards Nixon. The weary time traveller nodded his head as permission for him to reveal the truth. "We call ourselves the _Last Alliance of True American Heroes._ We're a clandestine organization that fights the forces of Communism from behind the scenes, working to destroy the red menace from the inside through covert spying tactics and infiltration. However, that's only half of our mission…" He explained.

"In approximately twenty years, Adolf Hitler will succeed in destroying all life in the patriotverse. We don't know the exact details, but we've gathered that Hitler will be resurrected through the combined forces of the Communists and the shadowy organization known only as the Harlem Globetrotters. We cannot say for sure whether this disaster was intentional or not. In the end, it doesn't really matter. We intend to stop the Ameripocalypse from happening at all costs!" Richard Nixon further elucidated his motives. Sonic's ears perked and loins stiffened as he began to piece together all of Tricky Dick's previous cryptic warnings.

"Cracker, you're acting like you already know what's going to happen in advance. How do you know this Ameripocalypse of yours is going to come about, anyway?" The hedgehog inquired and widened his cavernous eyes. His untrimmed chest hair stood on end as he leaned closer. "Because," Richard Nixon began with a smile. "It's already happened once before, or rather, it _will_ happen. I'm the son of Anne Frank, Sonic. I've come from two decades in the future to save America!"

Richard Nixon could clearly spot the growing doubt on Sonic's face. "I can prove it, too. When I was born, I received your first axe-guitar as a gift. Today, I carry this very same weapon by my side," Nixon spoke and clashed his guitar against the hedgehog's own, displaying that the two instruments were completely identical, right down to Sonic's crude etching of a nude, headless woman being sodomized by a T-Rex.

He sighed, "We're at a critical moment, Sonic. I had hesitated to tell you before out of fear that I would unintentionally damage the timeline and cease to exist. But now, I have little to lose. If all of the events of my future transpire the same way, Hitler will be brought back at the end of this month. _We need your help."_

ODB raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I'm no expert on tha inner workins' of yer galaxy, but ain't that Hitler asshole already back? We've heard many'a report from on the rim of a man matchin' his exact description destroying entire planets. Of course, those're just the rumors," Ol' Dirty Bastard questioned. Sonic then recalled Abraham Lincoln's ill-fated fight with a similar figure from several weeks past.

Richard Nixon bit down on his lower lip and nodded. "When I traveled back to this timeline, the Hitler of my future decided to do exactly the same. That's the other reason why we need your help. If we can't stop this, there will soon be _two_ Adolf Hitlers for us to contend with. If that happens, the Americaverse will be truly doomed," He clarified.

"Look, Nixon. I appreciate the offer, but I've retired from the whole defending America thing after what happened a while back. I'm sure there are plenty of others better suited than me for the job. After all, I'm just a guy who kills Communists for fun," Sonic voiced his disagreement and crossed his arms. A small laugh escaped from Nixon's pursed lips in response, "It's only one mission. After that, we'll respect your wishes and leave you alone. However, you might change your mind once you see the leader of our operation."

A wizened man swaddled in an albino hellhound pelt and a white trenchcoat confidently strode into the room. His rippling muscles carried the sweet aroma of eleven masterfully chosen herbs and spices, and his ashen beard glimmered with his Kentucky fried might. The warrior withdrew the legendary _Chicken Sword_ and guffawed with a righteous and fair smile. He raised his weapon to the sky as he spoke, "Have any of you seen a skinny little fucker named Sonic the Hedgehog around here? He's my apprentice!"

Sonic immediately fell on his face before the heavenly might of _Colonel Sanders,_ "Sensei! I'd gladly follow you into the depths of hell. Sign me up!"

"I certainly sympathize and all that, brother. I've been through a similar situation. But your people are the ones dying out there, not mine. What can you offer us in return for our help?" RZA questioned in a low voice, having already discussed the matter with the members of his clan.

Paul Blart nodded his head, having anticipated such a response, "If you assist us on our journey, we will help you reclaim your homeland of Wu-Tang Prime. Sound fair?" RZA turned to his companions to evaluate his decision. He smiled, shaking Paul Blart's outstretched hand and accepting his offer.

"You didn't tell them that the Biker Brethren were part of the cause of Hitler's resurrection. Shouldn't they know everything that's at stake here?" Paul Blart took Nixon to the side and pressed him for answers.

"It still weighs heavily on me, old friend. It's best not to burden them with that, it's bad enough that I have to deal with that unfortunate knowledge. If all goes correctly, after today Sonic will believe that they were killed in a random encounter with Communist soldiers. I'm leaving it up to you to ensure that the mission ahead goes correctly and the other two forces at work are stopped, can you handle that?" Nixon questioned. Blart humbly bowed his head in response.

"That Sonic guy is really something, Nixon. In my countless eons of living, I've never seen an American with so much latent potential. With proper training, he could become the strongest patriot in existence!" Paul Blart praised with a warm grin, watching as the star-spangled hedgehog playfully sparred with his former master. "Of course he's incredible," Tricky Dick beamed wide. "He's my father, after all!"

Nixon then directed his index and middle fingers towards his forehead, vanishing into the ether to complete his tragic mission. Paul Blart turned to Method Woman. He managed a weak smile as he watched his fellow Americans prepare for the impending war against the impious enemies of George Washington. "I've heard that you can predict the future. Tell me: how is this all going to end?" He asked. Method Woman despondently shook her head, _"In fire."_

"Why do all of these women have dicks?" Dwayne Johnson questioned Garfield. A few days prior, he had decided to borrow some of the feline's choice 'reading material' for the journey ahead, unaware of the contents inside. "Don't call them that, Rock. They're _feminine penises,_ and you should address them as such," Garfield corrected.

"We're almost at the planet Nixon told us to meet him at, Mr. President," Guy Fieri spoke with a frown. He bent over, performing a humble curtsy as he entered Lincoln's private chamber. Lincoln lowered his gaze, "...And so it begins."

Abraham Lincoln dismounted from Freedom-Song, his mighty eagle steed, as he and his brethren touched down upon the surface of the desert planet Neo New Mexico. The bikers folded their arms and intensely scrutinized Nixon, who was standing a few feet away from their location.

Richard Nixon's wiry hair blew in the arid wind. The disgraced American parted his chapped lips as he prepared to speak, "I'm sorry about all of this, old friend. For the good of the Americaverse, this cannot continue. I've tried to find a better solution to save my future, but it's now clear that I only have one option. I have no choice but to destroy the Biker Brethren here and now." Nixon turned his chin to the sky, watching as a single Communist battle cruiser uncloaked itself in orbit of the planet.

"...You damned coward. It's all coming together now. Michael Jordan, Charles Barkley, and Barack Obama are all dead because you sold us out! Did their lives mean nothing to you? Are you willing to go this far just for your twisted version of 'saving' our stars and stripes? More death is never the answer. Their blood is on your hands, Nixon!" Honest Abe snarled with a throaty grumble.

Tricky Dick turned away from the heavenly president, filled with shame over the lives he had callously sacrificed during his mission. Nixon turned to the soldiers he brought with him and sighed, "I've done my part. Try and make it painless, will you? And don't kill anyone you don't have to! Abraham Lincoln is your primary target."

A hefty Communist autarch trudged through the sand, his arms and legs bound with chains of wrought iron and his salivating fangs tightly muzzled. His twin handlers, _Bert and Ernie,_ nervously released the monolithic creature from its shackles. They dropped the chains and shuddered with dread as they backed away. Richard Nixon bowed his head towards the hulking blasphemy standing before him. Tricky Dick then revved his chainsaw-guitar, preparing for a fight.

"Wait, who is that? I was expecting that Karl Marx would send Kevin James again. Do any of you recognize him?" Abraham Lincoln questioned under his breath and unsheathed his katana. Anne Frank brushed the sand from her artificial skin as she and her brazen allies formed a defensive perimeter around their baseborn adversaries.

Dwayne Johnson shuddered with absolute terror, carefully backing away and making sure to avoid any sudden movements. "He is the strongest of all of the Communist elite, the fifth and final member of our order. Even Karl Marx is terrified of him. It is said that no living man upon this earth or in the heavens above can kill him. His name is... _John Cena!"_ He cried.

"Holy Arbuckle shit, what's going on? _I… I can't see him!"_ Garfield caterwauled with terror, wildly flailing his chainsaw-nunchuks in anticipation. John Cena charged at the speed of light towards the mortified feline, plunging his meaty fists into his torso and tearing out Garfield's still-beating heart with one decisive strike.

 _"I… I really hate Mondays…"_ Garfield tearfully rasped as he fell to his knees, gagging on his own blood and nursing his gaping impalement wound. Richard Nixon stood petrified with horror, trembling as he watched John Cena murder his adoptive father and voraciously feed upon his entrails and blood drenched viscera.

 _ **Your time is up, my time is now**_

 _ **You can't see me, my time is now**_

 _ **It's the franchise, boy I'm shinin' now**_

 _ **You can't see me, my time is now**_


	25. The House that Communism Built

**EDDIE MURPHY'S** " **NORBIT"** **IS AN AVANT-GARDE MASTERPIECE. IF YOU DO NOT AGREE, STOP READING THIS FANFICTION IMMEDIATELY. I HAVE NO PATIENCE FOR SUCH SIMIAN-MINDED INDIVIDUALS.**

 _Days until Adolf Hitler arrives: 4_

"Dude, what the hell is wrong with your dick? Why is it a gun?" RZA questioned Sonic. He turned up his nose in disgust, watching the star spangled hedgehog passionately lather his machine gun cock. After a long morning of minimally clothed exercise, Sonic and the Wu-Tang Clan retired to the showers to clean their bodies of the hellhound menstrual blood they had been doused in during combat. Adam Sandler watches Barack Obama while he sleeps, breathing heavily all the while.

Method Woman dropped her towel and shot RZA an annoyed glare. "What the fuck, man? You can't just ask what's wrong with another guy's dick. What's wrong with you?" She retorted, speaking for once in a perfectly lucid voice with none of her usual crypticism.

Sonic chuckled, "Nah' man, it's cool. Bitches are always asking me about my gun dick and feelin' it up. I'm not triggered by it. Maybe one of these days, I'll tell you the full story. It involves hookers, guns, Jägermeister, and lots of dead Care Bears."

After getting dressed, the clan headed to the alliance's battle simulation dome to begin the first phase of their training to grapple with the godlike puissance of Adolf Hitler. The grizzled warmaster Hank Hill quaffed heartily from a can of Milwaukee's Best. He outstretched his arm, directing the Wu-Tang Clan's gaze to an assembly of five gargantuan propane tanks towering before them.

The portly warrior throatily cachinnated, tearing his sweat stained shirt asunder and demonstrating his hard-hitting _Zui quan_ martial arts style. He adjusted his glasses and smirked, "My name is Hank Hill. I sell propane and propane accessories. Also, I slay Communists. I joined this alliance after my home of Arlen, Texas was bombed by Karl Marx's forces."

Hank Hill recalled the nuclear missiles pouring from the stars like rain, reducing his peaceful homeworld into lifeless slag overnight. Hank Hill clawed his way out of the smouldering desolation of his homeland and dragged his ruined body to safety. Tears of grief rolled off of his lips as he checked his mangled son for a heartbeat, _"...Dangit Bobby."_

"I was the only survivor that night. But, that's beside the point. My training routine for you is simple: I want all five of you to lift one of these propane tanks. Also, you have to do it while blackout drunk!" Hank Hill grinned, pitching Sonic and each of his teammates a six pack. Colonel Sanders and Paul Blart watched on the sidelines, nodding their heads in approval as the besotted warlords struggled to hoist up their ten thousand ton weights. Sweat trickled from Sonic's forehead as he struggled. The bones in his arms buckled as he mustered all of his strength, managing to lift the tank exactly one inch off of the grass.

"Also, I forgot to mention you'll be chased by a pack of wild velociraptors while you're carrying those. Try not to die like the last group did!" Hank Hill beamed wide. A smug simper spread across his lips as he released a mob of these salivating reptoids from their captivity and onto the battlefield.

"Do you think they can do it? Stop the Ameripocalypse and defeat our alliance's secret master, I mean," Paul Blart questioned his stalwart comrade. They both watched intently as Sonic and his fellow warriors fought for their lives on the field. Colonel Sanders playfully smiled, "Do I look like I know, nigga? I'm just a guy who makes fried chicken. It's all in the hands of George Washington now. All we can do is pray and hope for a miracle that he can beat _him_ and free us all..."

Richard Nixon flicked away the tears flooding his soul, cradling the disfigured body of his father in his tremulous arms. Tricky Dick wept and threw his head back, roaring into the red sky, "...Damn you, John Cena. _DAMN YOU!"_

Richard Nixon took Garfield's chainsaw-nunchuks into his trembling hands and charged towards Cena and his handlers. Bert darted around from behind, putting the inconsolable warrior into a full nelson. Ernie then repeatedly slugged the restrained patriot in the face and lobbed him face-first into the sand with an uppercut.

Nixon wiped the blood from his lip and growled, "Why did you have to kill him? He didn't even try to attack you! This wasn't part of our agreement, you goddamn Communist!" John Cena cracked a sickening grin at Nixon's grief. He raised his arms, licking Garfield's viscid blood from his fists.

"I didn't like the way he was looking at me. So, _I killed him,"_ Cena explained his shockingly simple motives, infuriating Nixon even more. Anne Frank won't stop laughing at Heathcliff comics. Nobody can understand why.

John Cena gritted his teeth and burgeoned forth, charging towards Abraham Lincoln at an impossibly fast speed for his gargantuan size. Dwayne Johnson hardened his entire body into diamond and stepped between the two, pummeling Cena backwards with his glimmering musculature. "I'm a pacifist at heart, ye' foul Communist. I have no interest in harming you, but I will defend my allies at any cost. Are you prepared for the smackdown, you Kung Pao Bitch?" He challenged.

Dwayne Johnson lunged at John Cena. The Communist autarch countered, gracelessly planting the Rock's face into the side of a mountain. Cena drew back his arm, shattering Dwayne Johnson's jaw with a jab from his elbow. He then lifted the crippled warlord skyward by his nostrils and proceed to savagely clobber his Nubian countenance hundreds of feet into the earth.

John Cena dug his heel into the Rock's abdomen and scoffed in disgust, "How far you've fallen, brother. You were once the mightiest of the Marxist warlords, thousands of filthy Americans died at your hands! What happened to your sense of honor as a Communist? You even helped kill your own sister. What a waste of material…"

 _"You Roody Poo Candy Ass._ Taylor Swift was just another victim of Karl Marx's brainwashing, just as you are and I once was. If you surrender, we can help revert the damage he's done! Don't you wish to get back at him for making you his slave?" Dwayne Johnson earnestly offered, shooting Cena the legendary People's Eyebrow as a sign of good faith.

John Cena hardened his heart to The Rock's plea and charged a _Revenge_ _Death Ball_ in the palm of his hand, preparing to wipe Dwayne off the face of the earth. Adam Sandler uses crystals to channel astral energy into his dick and other extremities.

"Things aren't looking good. Is the fleet in orbit yet?" Abe Lincoln questioned Guy Fieri, being too preoccupied with fending off Bert and Ernie to save The Rock from Cena's clutches. Guy Fieri smiled and bowed his head as the sky became lit with flames. In an instant, Cena's Communist battle cruiser was bombarded into flaming debris by a battle fleet of five heavily armed American starships. Fieri chuckled, "I believe that answers your question, Mr. President."

John Cena and his impious servants stood aghast, scrambling to evade the smouldering detritus raining from the sky. "I'd like to introduce you to the _American Dream, the Uncle Sam, the Jefferson Starship, the USS Enterprise-D, and the Mother Russia._ Or, in other terms, the Biker Brethren's Holy Battle Fleet, organized by rallying together every pocket of patriotic resistance in the Americaverse! Did you really think we'd come here without backup, Nixon?" Abraham Lincoln guffawed with a righteous laugh. He raised his hand, signalling for the fleet to begin blasting the planet from orbit.

Nixon's eyes widened with shock, "The Mother Russia? That's the Russians army's flagship! You were actually working with them all along? That means... everything you said before was a lie! You tricked me just to draw the last of Marx's elite soldiers out of hiding!"

All five cruisers pivoted their aft plasma cannons towards John Cena. The brutish Communist warmaster trembled with fear at the sight. "NO!" John Cena cried out in terror as the fleet unleashed their full salvo. Their combined gun batteries relentlessly bombarded him thousands of feet into the planet's crust, rendering him completely helpless.

Cena gritted his teeth in pain and crawled his way out of the continent-sized crater he had been buried in. He coughed up blood, barely mustering the strength to regenerate his dismembered body before Lincoln's second assault strafed him back into the earth. Richard Nixon fell to his knees and watched the onslaught unfold, powerless to stop his plans from crumbling. "This… this wasn't supposed to happen this way! _Not like this!"_ He wailed.

Abraham Lincoln watched with a mixture of disgust and pity as Richard Nixon wept face-down on the sand, "Confused? We've been planning this ever since Barkley was killed, trying to lure you and your masters out of hiding. You've always been one of my closest friends, Nixon. There was a time when I would have trusted you with my life! Tell me: in the end, was all of this ruin truly worth it?"

John Cena leapt out of the billowing smoke, soaring hundreds of feet into the air with a single bound. "If I can't win, I'm going to take this entire planet with me!" The undead warlord threatened with a throaty snarl. He held out his hands and unleashed his most deadly attack, firing thousands of concurrent energy blasts from his hefty digits.

Guy Fieri and Anne Frank hastily swooped down, rescuing Bert and Ernie from certain death at the hands of John Cena and his furious assault. The surviving members of the Biker Brethren stood together, doing their best to protect the planet beneath from Cena's frenzied, unpredictable attacks. With an unspoken agreement, Bert and Ernie decided to assist the Bikers in their desperate battle against this sodomous helldaemon. John Cena was beset on all sides as Ernie invocated a host of thousands of demonically-possessed rubber duckies to attack the Marxist warlord before him and wear down his resolve.

Bert withdrew his dual flintlock pistols and opened fire, supporting the Biker Brethren as they bombarded John Cena with the full forces of their godlike, Americanesque fuckfury. "I'm so fresh, you can suck my nuts! Go right to hell, you goddamn Communist!" Abraham Lincoln bayed towards the heavens above with a seraphic roar, beheading John Cena with one clean slice of his ancestral katana.

Guy Fieri crinkled his brow in disgust as he beheld the cloven stump atop his body attempt to regenerate itself. The warlords all stood together, finally obliterating this philistine shitmeister with the help of all of the bikers' combined strengths, ensuring that he could never again set foot upon American soil. _It was patriotic as fuck._

"We're not sure who you guys are, but we're grateful that you saved our lives. We can't exactly go home again after what we pulled today. Mind if we lay low with you crackers for a while?" Ernie propositioned. Winnie the Pooh smiled, seeming pleased at the prospect of having another Communist among their star-spangled order.

After the smoke had cleared, Abe Lincoln plummeted to the sand and hurriedly rushed to find Garfield's body. He abruptly shoved Richard Nixon out of the way and shouted over the clamor, "Stand back, quickly! If I use my own life force as a power source as I once did when I healed Sonic from certain death, I still may be able to save his life!"

"Your own life? I am sworn to protect you at all costs, Mr. President! Something such as that could-" Guy Fieri blurted out in a frantic tone of voice. "Kill me? Yes, I know. I'm aware of that possibility. But, Garfield sacrificed himself as part of one of my plans. I'm the one responsible for his death. If a few years of my life are shaved off trying to bring him back, then so be it!" Abe Lincoln spoke with a wise and fair voice, cutting Guy Fieri off mid-sentence.

He then lowered his gaze, "You may all want to stand back. This will take a considerably higher amount of energy and concentration than the time I revived Sonic after he was nearly slain by Gabriel Iglesias."

Garfield awoke from a deep slumber, clutching both Pooky and his anime body pillow tightly by his side. The portly Ecaflip emerged from his ill-fitting box of a bed, and his nose was drawn to the familiar, visceral scent of lasagna coming from the kitchen. The rotund man-cat hybrid began to voraciously feed upon the lasagna, passionately lathering his scantily clad body with the melted cheese and meat, convulsing with depraved pleasure all the while.

"Old friend! It's been a long time," A mahogany skinned warrior bathed in light strode quietly into the room. He grinned, and his gleaming eyes appeared as two pale basketballs that seemingly peered into Garfield's soul. The cat gasped, _"M-Michael Jordan!"_

"But laddy, I thought you were dead!" Garfield flicked away the tears of joy forming in his eyes, coming to embrace his heavenly brother in arms with a bare chested hug. Michael Jordan held his chin high and let out a small laugh, "For the moment, it seems we're both dead. After all, how else could you have ended up in Jon Arbuckle's old house?"

Garfield stroked the pasta-stained hairs upon his chin, deep in contemplation. He nodded, "I suppose you're right, the old house was destroyed by Communists centuries ago. So this is the holy White House, huh? The afterlife seems like a nice place, just as the tales and legends of our forefathers foretold. How's being dead going, anyhow?"

Michael Jordan bowed his chin. He fiddled with the halo perched over his head whilst spinning a basketball atop his index finger, "Quite nicely, actually. Madoka and I are very happy here. I'd love to chat and catch up, but there's something urgent I must tell you before you are taken back to the world of the living, something I learned after death. _Listen closely…"_

Garfield's eyes flew open. The feline gasped for air, filling his lungs with oxygen as his patriotic soul returned to his repaired vessel. Abe Lincoln immediately collapsed from exhaustion, and the Biker Brethren caught him on his descent. "D-Did it work?" Honest Abe rasped with a tremulous smile. Garfield bolted upright, giving his companion an eager nod as a silent sign of his gratitude.

"So, how much of your life force did you give up to bring him back? Days? Weeks? Months?" Guy Fieri questioned in a low voice, watching as the other members of the Biker Brethren swarmed around Garfield and questioned him about his short time in the afterlife.

Lincoln shook his head, "I gave him _all_ of it. You will have to find a replacement for me very soon, old friend. I only have but a few short days left in this star-spangled galaxy..."

"You've all gotten much stronger in such a short time! Personally, I was one of the ones that bet that you'd all die in the first week of training. Care to try your hand at fighting me?" Colonel Sanders challenged with a boisterous laugh. He reached out his hand, saucily beckoning the Wu-Tang Clan forward.

Sonic widened his eyes in surprise, "This is a first. In all of my years as his apprentice, I've never once had the chance to fight him. I'm starting to get excited!" Sonic then unsheathed his axe-guitar and bolted towards the southern fried warlord with RZA trailing closely behind.

The warriors assaulted the Kentucky Colonel with an innumerable amount of punches and strikes. However, they barely managed to graze Sanders even at the fullest extent of their otherworldly strengths. "Is that all? Come on, don't hold back!" Colonel Sanders teased, letting out a yawn as he effortlessly caught Method Woman's katana between his fingers.

Ghostface Killah shoved Ol' Dirty Bastard out of his way and unsheathed his scythe, impetuously charging ahead. He snarled, "Out of the way, brother! Let a true master of the Wu-Tang fighting style show you how it's done!"

"I believe I'm beginning to see the problem here," Colonel Sanders maundered in a hushed voice. He accelerated at an incalculably fast speed and socked RZA in the stomach. Sanders reached out his hand, swiping the joint from the Wu-Warlord's fingers while he nursed his wounds.

He playfully blew a smoke ring into his face and laughed, "Your problem is that you're too relaxed during battle, RZA. You charge in head first without a plan and just hope that things work out. If you don't have a strategy, you'll never be able to beat Adolf Hitler and his allies! Stop detaching yourself from reality and live in the moment. Also, next time, try and fight without the dank kush." RZA furrowed his brow in annoyance, "Hey, no fair! I can't fight unless I'm high, brother!"

"Serves you right, ass," Sonic snickered. While he was distracted, Colonel Sanders snuck up on him from behind and plowed his head into the dirt. "Your problem is the opposite, kiddo. You're the kinda guy who carries the entire world on his back, personally blaming yourself whenever something bad happens. You often think too much when you move instead of just moving, leaving yourself open to attack. If you two learned to make up for each other's weak points, you could make quite a formidable force! Either way, you should learn to relax and not be so analfurious and constipated," Colonel Sanders orated with a smile, helping Sonic to his feet.

"Don't give us the teamwork speech, man. I don't need to hear about any of that gay shit," Sonic grumbled. Colonel Sanders grabbed both Ol' Dirty Bastard and Ghostface by the back of their heads, forcefully beating their faces together and sending them both plummeting to the ground below.

"Don't think I forgot about you two! You're constantly letting your sibling rivalry get in the way of a fight. If you dumbshits focused your efforts on fighting the Communists instead of each other, your combat skills wouldn't be so limited," The Kentucky Colonel scolded. He turned his head, quickly intercepting a sneak attack from behind by Method Woman.

Colonel Sanders pulled back his index finger, flicking Method Woman with an incredible velocity and sending her into the sea. He smirked, "You certainly have a leg up over the others, but you're not quite there. Not yet, anyway. The future is always in motion! If you preoccupy yourself with what you think will happen, you'll always be at a loss for how to react when things go differently."

RZA crinkled his eyes, scrutinizing Colonel Sanders as he turned to leave, "He defeated all of us without even using a tenth of his strength. It's like he didn't even bare his fangs at all! What is with that guy, brother?"

Garfield stood and watched Richard Nixon from the outside of his laser guarded cell. "Is what Michael Jordan told me true? Can this lad really be from the future? I suppose I'll do what Air Jordan said and watch over his life. After all, if he has a destiny to fulfill, I owe him that much..." He thought to himself.

"Captain _Vladimir Putin_ radioed in and said that the Mother Russia and her crew have finished repairs. What are your orders, Mr. President?" Guy Fieri inquired as he poured Lincoln another glass of tea. Lincoln stood from his chair and turned to Fieri, "At long last, we're heading to the house that Communism built. Alert the fleet, Mr. Fieri. We're going to invade Wolfsschanze and finally liberate the American people from the clutches of Karl Marx!"

Guy Fieri rolled up the sleeve of his robe as he felt a sharp pain shoot down his arm. He looked down as his brazen flesh flared with a dark, ichorous aura and began to throb uncontrollably. The culinary sword-thain retired himself to his quarters and swore under his breath, "Dammit, this vessel isn't worthy of containing the spirit of the mighty _John Cena-sama!_ Even now, it's barely holding in my Communist power!"

The possessed warrior stretched out his hand, hovering his palm in front of his face, "Watch yourselves, American scum. You can't see me, and your time is now!"


	26. Episode of Sonic: Origin of the Gun-Dick

**SUGGESTED LISTENING: "HELL ETERNAL" BY SETHERIAL**

A hulking warrior kneels down, lost in thought. His bare chest shimmers in the light of the moon. Fresh blood trickles steadily down his arms and loins, most likely originating from the ten brutally slain Communists strewn at his feet. Acid rain pours down and washes away the murky blood drenching the corpses, revealing their caved-in faces and shattered skulls; _all of the telltale signs of an American warlord's handiwork._

The warrior knelt down, lifting up one of the Marxist's severed arms. He furrowed his brow as he took out his linoleum knife, using it to whittle off a piece of the flesh and eat it. He immediately spat out the chunk of uncooked carrion, "Uck, nasty! Communists taste like shit. Not even the delicious kind of shit, either. Where can I get something good to eat on this crapsack planet? Of all the places for my Harley to break down..."

 _ **THE EPISODE OF SONIC: ORIGIN OF THE GUN-DICK**_

Sonic caught sight of one of the wounded Communist soldiers scrambling for its gun in his peripheral vision. The hedgehog reacted without a moment of hesitation and unsheathed his red axe-guitar, pressing the end of its blade against the Marxist's neck. "You… you American bastard! Your kind is every bit as depraved as Lord Karl Marx described. Why did you kill all of my men?" He asked.

Sonic cupped his chin, pondering his question, "No real reason, honestly. It's just… _killing Communists really turns me on!"_ Sonic rammed his foe in the face with his raging hard-on, impacting him with a force comparable to being plowed down by ten thousand consecutive semi trucks.

This ill-bred Marxist snarled and sputtered at the sight of his unbridled patriotism, driven into a feral state of niggerrage as the massive gap between their skills became clear. The Communist trembled with fear as the hedgehog approached, "Are… are you an angel, or a demon?"

Sonic chuckled, "Both." The hedgehog swung his guitar, using it to bisect the inbred Communist right down the middle before he could attack. The muscle-bound American knelt down to scrape the cartilage from his leather boots, "Shit, I might have overdone it a little bit with that one. Now I'm even more hungry!"

"Excuse me, sir. Can you please get off of me?" Sonic's ears perked as he heard an unfamiliar voice call out from beneath him. His eyes widened in surprise as he stood, finding a young man splayed across the ashen earth where he sat. Sonic pinched his brow and groaned, "Fuck. Did I give birth to a midget or some shit? _Not again..."_

The lad shook his head, "O-Of course not, mister! You were sitting on me for the past several hours. Those Communists captured me from my village and brought me here to be executed. You saved my life!" Sonic nodded his head, despite being too high to really comprehend the events that had just transpired. "That's nice, kid. Since I saved your life, can I eat you?"

"...No, sorry. But if it's food you're after, you're welcome to come back to town with me! As thanks for saving me, I'll share what few rations I've got with you. By the way, what's your name? I'm _George Costanza,"_ The strapping young man took Sonic by the hand, eagerly leading him back to his dystopian village. The hedgehog smirked, "Sonic's the name, killing Communists is my game!"

"The verdict has been decided! As penance for blaspheming our glorious Communist Manifesto, the American heretics in question shall be fed to the _Watcher of the Abyss!"_ A guttural voice boomed from the zenith of a golden ziggurat located in the center of this forsaken city. Driven by his curiosity, Sonic broke from his guide's path and fought through the hordes of serfs and commoners that gathered around this gilded altar for a closer look.

Sonic scowled at the priest leading these townspeople in prostration for the unholy ritual that was about to unfold. The headdress made of bones perched atop his head and the ritual scarification emblazoned upon his skin instantly gave away his foul, Communist heritage, filling Sonic's heart with patriotic fuckfury.

"The beast feeds upon these virgin sacrifices, cleansing them with its lifeblood and purifying them of their sin! Now, the ritual shall begin! Lower them into the pit!" The Marxist pontiff cackled, signalling for his cloaked servants to send the bound heretics into the abyssal chasm located in the center of the structure.

Sonic gritted his teeth, "Those bastards… these Commies are controlling the American populace of this city with fear, keeping them in line by randomly sacrificing their women and children in rituals like these. I've seen shit like this happen too many times before!"

Sonic's companion grimly bowed his head, "That's why I brought you here, mister. I was almost slain just for refusing to bow before these damned Communists and their rules. Can you do anything to help my people? I'll do anything!" Sonic averted his eyes as the scantily clad female sacrifices were drenched in scalding butter, seemingly for the purpose of making them more appetizing for the beast chained in the catacombs beneath the city. Marxist soldiers lowered them into the darkness by their fetters, tauntingly dangling them over the abyss like bait.

Sonic readied his guitar and turned to George Costanza, "So, what am I up against here? What is this beast they keep chanting about?" The ground beneath the hedgehog's feet shook with a mighty tremor, signalling the dreaded creature's arrival. A monolithic, amorphous worm rose from the bottom of the pit, a repugnant creature so unutterably vast that it instantly blotted out the sun with its menace as it rose from its dwelling hole.

Its porous flesh constantly oozed with uterine fluid, drenching its polyp-ridden skin with a thick, mucous-like layer of black sludge. This dead eyed obscenity's innumerable teeth chattered and gnashed at the air, tirelessly shrieking noiseless blasphemies that could not be heard by any originating from the mortal world of the living. Costanza gulped, "That's the beast that dwells in the abyss. They call it _Paula Deen!"_

Paula Deen devoured the virgin sacrifices with one bite, grinding them to paste inside of her mouth as she descended back into the pit. George Costanza watched as Sonic clenched his fists and prepared to strike. He stood in complete awe of his star-spangled fuckferocity, "So, the legends were true! True American Heroes really do still exist in these dark times! _W-What a man!"_

"I'm not mad about those damn Commies. It's just…" Sonic bowed his head and grinned, _"I wanted to be the one to eat those virgin sacrifices!"_ The hedgehog threw himself at the altar, wildly swinging his guitar and hacking apart every Marxist in his path. Sonic impaled one of the soldiers upon the end of his blade and continued charging ahead, using this skewered Commie as a living shield to deflect the maelstrom of bullets flying towards him.

George Costanza joined in this patriotic onslaught, charging into the fray and assisting Sonic by mercilessly bludgeoning the Marxist hordes with a baseball bat. Sonic and Costanza joined together and fired off their machine guns into the crowd, mowing down countless enemy soldiers. "Release the _spawn of the abyss!_ Make these Americans suffer!" The cowardly Marxist priest whimpered with terror, scrambling to flee from this fiercely patriotic massacre.

Costanza stood aghast, "T-The spawn? Oh no, _surely they don't mean-"_ Thousands of diminutive, apelike humanoids covered in mangy fur clawed their way out of the pit beneath. These depraved creatures snarled and spat incoherently as they scampered into the streets of the city, devouring many of the townspeople for their own amusement as they made their way to Sonic and his trembling companion.

"They call them _Care Bears._ Despicable creatures they are, born from the unholy union of that creature in the pit and the women it defiles. Quick, there's no way we can defeat them! Let's escape while we still can, mister!" George Costanza quaked with terror, ducking for cover behind Sonic.

"An unbeatable enemy? Well, in that case… _that just turns me on even more!"_ Sonic readied his chainsaw, using it to hack apart dozens of these repugnant creatures without mercy. Sonic crushed the skull of one of these beasts with his bare fists and snarled, "Damn! Is there no end to these fuckin' crackers?" With his machine gun in one hand and his guitar in another, the hedgehog savagely parted the waves of subhuman soldiers from before him. He swung his guitar with a star-spangled fervor, splitting open the heads of hundreds of these gangly cretins.

Dozens of Care Bears threw themselves upon Sonic, forcing him to the ground as they gnawed away at his skin. The hedgehog struggled in vain, failing to break free of their grip and reach his axe-guitar. The leader of this ill-bred host climbed atop Sonic's stomach, drawing back its flesh-choked axe and preparing to swing. "S-Shit! I'm fucked!" He cried.

Sonic bolted awake and gasped for air. He tried to stand, but quickly keeled over from the severity of his injuries. George Costanza dropped the pot of water he was carrying and hurriedly ran to Sonic's bedside, "H-Hey, slow down! You took quite a beating back there. Any normal person would have died from those injuries! I took you back to my home, you'll be safe here for now. Even with your strength, it'll probably still take you a few months of resting and years of physical therapy to get better. So, try not to push yourself!"

"Fuck that. I'll just walk it off," Sonic grumbled as he stood, bending down and ripping out the battle axe still wedged in his abdomen. The hedgehog groggily lumbered around Costanza's humble lodgings, carelessly rummaging through his personal belongings and breaking all of his treasured heirlooms. Sonic paused as he reached into a chest, pulling out an artificial arm hewn from metal and plated in obsidian. "What's this, some kinda buttplug?" He asked.

Costanza smiled warmly, taken back to his glory days as a blacksmith. "Ah, it's been forever since I've seen that! I was a field doctor during the wars, and I made hundreds of prosthetics just like those. Of course, they were all fitted with thermonuclear weapons and bayonets, but I was just glad to be helping people. If I wasn't such a coward, I would still be out there doing just that. Alas, that was many yahrens ago…" He spoke wistfully.

The hedgehog grinned as a devilish idea took shape in his mind. Sonic took out a sheet of paper and scribbled a poorly drawn phallus shooting bullets and spewing fire. He smiled, "How would you like to have another chance to help people and make a difference again? I want you to build this for me, Costanza. I've got a plan to murderize the fuck out of those monsters."

George Costanza beat his hammer against the red-hot steel, sending sparks flying as he tempered this unrefined metal to Sonic's crude specifications. The hedgehog donned his newly forged armaments of war and stylish baldric, setting out into the raging battleground in the midst of the city. Sonic turned up his nose in disgust, watching as the Care Bears viciously sodomized each other with spears to stave off their own boredom.

The hedgehog climbed atop a burning funeral pyre, raising his guitar to the heavens to challenge the fuckling hordes beneath him. Sonic fondled his raging demon-erection through his jeans and grinned with a bloodthirsty simper. His vein-festooned muscles radiated bloodlust as he tore his belt asunder and shouted, "It's time to _ROCK THE FUCK OUT!"_

"One, nothing wrong with me!" Sonic the Hedgehog's tattered blue jeans fell to his ankles, revealing the weaponized, cybernetic gun-dick affixed to his crotch. It was a righteous firearm born in the flames of hell, forged from cold steel, wrought iron, and the menstrual blood of lesser archdaemons. "Two, nothing wrong with me!" Sonic cocked his cock and fired his demonic load, unleashing a salvo that utterly annihilated his leprous foes and bathed the earth with their lifeblood.

"Three, nothing wrong with me!" Sonic speedily darted through the torrential downpour of hellbeast afterbirth and osseous remnants. The hedgehog continued his ceaseless pelvic thrusting, completely dismembering every Communist in his path with a faceful of buckshot. Sonic wildly thrashed his head and relished every moment of his carnage, rocking out with the black metal of the gods as he carved his foes asunder with his axe-guitar. "Four, nothing wrong with me!"

"He's insane… it's like he's not even human! I guess it takes a monster to fight monsters," George Costanza watched in awe as Sonic flew across the battlefield, leaving behind only death and destruction in his wake.

"Something's got to give… _NOW!"_ Sonic fired his gun-dick at the ground, using the force to propel himself hundreds of feet into the air and reach the zenith of the Communists' holy grounds.

 _"Let the bodies hit the floor!"_ Sonic cried out in heavenly song as he poured a jug of kerosene into Paula Deen's dwelling place. He removed the doobie from his mouth and casually tossed it into the pit, setting ablaze a righteous hellfire that could be seen from hundreds of lightyears away. The hedgehog then obstructed his arm in front of George Costanza to stop his approach, "Don't come any closer! This damned creature ain't dead yet. You know that nasty-ass thing that was eating all of the people? That was only one of its fingers!"

The ground beneath Sonic's feet palpitated wildly, creating shockwaves that shook the very foundation of this forsaken planet to its core. "Journey with me into the mind of a maniac! Doomed to be a killer since I came out the nutsack! Fuck yeah, America!" Sonic dug his guitar into the Communist abomination's hide and used his pious instrument to scale the monolithic beast. The hedgehog climbed hundreds of feet before reaching the troposphere, the height where the creature's legs ended and its torso began.

"Brother, that's bullshit. None of that ever happened. Do you really expect us to believe that, man?" RZA scowled at the patriotic hedgehog. Sonic smirked and took another toke from his hookah pipe, "I'm tellin' you, it's all true! Especially the part where I strangled Paula Deen with my cock. Shit, I didn't even get to that part!"

Ol' Dirty Bastard chuckled, "Alright, let's settle it. Meth, is this trippin' honkey tellin' the truth or what?" Method Woman bowed her head, "Understanding is a three edged sword. However, the truth shall always point to itself." RZA sighed, "Well, that didn't solve anything."

"I'm eternally in your debt, Mr. Sonic. I fixed your motorcycle, so you should be good to go. If you ever need somewhere to stay, just drop by. You're welcome here anytime!" George Costanza tore his shirt asunder and embraced Sonic with a bare chested hug, the only truly American way of saying goodbye.

The hedgehog donned his leather biker jacket and leapt atop his trusty, metallic steed. He chuckled, "It's no problem, thanks for giving me so many Commies to slay. Also, I forgot to mention something. I raided your fridge while you were sleeping and ate a Ball Park® Frank or some shit I found. Thanks to that, my hunger is finally gone. If I ever return, make sure to bring plenty of those!"

George Costanza watched as Sonic's motorcycle soared into the heavens above, "Ball Park® Frank? I don't remember keeping anything like that around. Wait, _don't tell me he ate his own...!"_


	27. Honest Abe and the Day of the Rope

**DAILY REMINDER: MIRAI RICHARD NIXON DID NOTHING WRONG. EXCEPT FOR TRYING TO KILL EVERYONE. ALSO, WATERGATE.**

 _Days until Adolf Hitler arrives: 3_

"...I've been down this road almost more times than I can count, Garfield. Twenty-five times I've attempted this mission, and every time I've failed. Murdered, caught, slain in battle, erased from the timeline, I've seen it all. I live in a special kind of hell. Every time I die, I am sent back to the very point when I first arrived in the past, caught in an unbreakable time loop until I succeed," Richard Nixon expounded in a cold, broken voice. Garfield took a seat, listening intently from the outside of Tricky Dick's holding cell. Adam Sandler is crestfallen when his application to join ISIS is rejected.

Richard Nixon let out an exasperated sigh. He rested his forehead against the padded walls of the prison in defeat. "Even now, I'm barely any closer to discovering the truth and preventing Hitler from returning. By this time, I'm usually dead. Whenever I get the slightest bit closer to the truth, the cycle begins anew, and I'm yet again forced to kill the ones I love for the supposed 'greater good.' It's only a matter of time before Lincoln executes me and the cycle starts over again," He continued.

Nixon managed a half-smile, "I don't suppose you're believing any of this shit, are you?" Garfield's mind was reeling, trying to make sense of what he had learned in the past few hours. The feline took his chainsaw-nunchuks into his sweaty grasp. He closed his eyes and flailed his weapons wildly, hacking apart the door to Nixon's detention cell. Nixon gasped, "G-Garfield? Why did you?"

"Don't make me regret this decision, lad. If I leave you here, you'll surely be killed. I made a promise to a friend that I'd protect you with my life, and I intend to do just that. Quick, get out of here!" Garfield demanded. He then handed Tricky Dick his confiscated belongings and directed him to the exit.

"I won't forget what you did for me _fath-_ I mean, Garfield. This time, I'll save the Americaverse and make all of this right! I'll find a better way and save everyone, you'll see!" Richard Nixon tearfully parted ways with his adoptive father, darting down the corridor as fast as his feet could carry him. Garfield pinched his brow, "Jeez, that nigga must be trippin'..."

The emotionless android Anne Frank donned her Klingon baldric and battle armor, arming herself for the impending attack on the Communist homeworld. She turned to Bert and Ernie and smiled, "Forgive me if this is a personal question, but I must ask: why are you two helping us? Don't you serve Karl Marx?" Garfield decides to forego undergarments, citing religious reasons.

Bert turned to Ernie, and then back to Anne Frank, and answered, "Well, we've always been warrior-class Communists. Ever since we were born, we've been trained to follow Marx's orders without question and kill Americans. We've never had any other choice. However, we're both sick of watching our families and loved ones die to perpetuate this endless war! If you intend to overthrow Marx and his regime, we'll gladly fight by your side."

Ernie grinned and blew a smoke ring from his pipe in the android's direction. "In fact, I would bet that many Communists feel the same way. It's possible they could even end up joining us in the attack!" He said.

"Something isn't right here. Usually, the planetary defense grid will blow any ship that gets near homeworld out of the sky. Could this be a trap?" Winnie the Pooh questioned under his breath. He bent down, snorting another line of honey off the breasts of a hooker.

Dwayne Johnson nodded his head in agreement, acknowledging the possibility, "Perhaps, young master. Then again, it's doubtful we'll ever get a second chance at this. Even if it's a trap, we have no choice but to proceed with the invasion as planned."

The battle fleet soon arrived in the orbit of Wolfsschanze. Countless American drop ships descended through the atmosphere and landed, unloading immeasurable multitudes of star-spangled battalions on the surface. Abraham Lincoln marched at the front line of this patriotic host, signalling for the American hovercraft circling above to unload their cargo: a myriad of Harley Davidson™ motorcycles and droves of assorted machines of war. Truly, only the most upright and righteous of patriotic equipment.

"They're here…" Garfield foreboded. He watched as the Communist hordes marched from the gates of their impenetrable fortress city, an obsidian plated monolith embedded in the side of a mountain. Abraham Lincoln let out a throaty war cry that echoed throughout the land and the heavens above. He raised his guitar to the sky as he rallied his patriotic brethren to battle. The subhuman Communist host sputtered from this undeniably holy sight, and their cries rose to a gravelly clamor as they beat their spears upon the frostbitten earth.

"Arise and hear me, my patriotic kinsmen!" Honest Abe boomed, riding across the field astride his Harley with his electric guitar erected to the sky. The battlefield fell deathly silent, and even the Communists closed their gaping maws in anticipation for what Lincoln had to say.

Lincoln cleared his throat and began to speak aloud, "The day of the rope has arrived! The moment we and our forefathers have dreamed of for fifteen generations is now upon us! The hopes, dreams, and sacrifices of those who came before us and those who shall come after us are etched into our souls, kindling inside of us as the fuel for our journey into the infinite night! We shall rock the fuck out with the black metal of the gods, and this righteous melody shall smash through foolish dogma like karma and destiny, bringing our people out of the ashes and rewriting this cruel fate forced upon us!"

The Americans and Communists alike lowered their spears, taking aim and preparing to charge. Lincoln continued, "Our patriotic spirit shall be a blinding light in the face of every sodomous foe who dares to stand in our way! Today, this battlefield will become a graveyard the likes the patriotverse has never seen, a testament to the indomitable, unbreakable resolve of the American race that will forever endure until the end of time! Arise, armada! Rise against the wealth of darkness, bring the infinite blackness to light! Tonight, we will show the Communists the true power of the American race!"

Abraham Lincoln turned silent for a brief moment. He pivoted his wise and fair gaze to the armies of George Washington that awaited his orders, "Will you follow me into hell, my American brothers?"

The American forces welled up with a sense of patriotic fuckrage never before felt by any mortal men. The children of Washington emerged from the sea of suffering and despair they had been ensnared in for hundreds of years, crying out with a seraphic roar as they charged without fear into the enemy forces. Dwayne Johnson soared across the battlefield astride his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle, forming a defensive line alongside thousands of his patriotic kinspeople that righteously slaughtered every Communist in their path.

"By my estimation, our fighting quota should be about _ten million soldiers_ each, and we can leave the rest to the American armies. Think you can handle that?" Guy Fieri smirked and swung his staff. He lifted an exoskeleton clad Spinosaurus by its turkey neck and drew back his arm, hurling this snarling hellbeast into the sun. Abe Lincoln folded his arms behind his back, pulverizing a squadron of armored tanks using only his legs. He smirked, "I like our odds, old friend!"

Captain Jean-Luc Picard incinerated hundreds of baseborn Marxist fucklings with his Phaser-Guitar. He bowed his head in approval as the Enterprise, the Defiant, and countless other Starfleet vessels bombarded the Wolf's Lair from orbit.

"Arise, ye' Russian people! The hordes of hell are upon us! Let's show these American bastards how it's done!" Vladimir Putin guffawed with thunderous laughter. He straddled his albino grizzly bear steed, leading his kinsmen into battle against the Communist menace.

Winnie the Pooh parted the advancing waves of Communist soldiers with his sniper rifle. He ducked, covering his ears as he and his fellow combatants tossed an innumerable amount of fragmentation grenades into the closely-knit throngs of warriors charging ahead. Anne Frank stood alongside Mercenary Pooh and let out a throaty war cry as she transmogrified both of her arms into machine guns, using them to annihilate every depraved Marxist warlord in her line of sight.

The Rock fought back with deliberately non-lethal attacks, subduing his churlish adversaries with a flurry of paralyzing jabs to the neck and loins. Abraham Lincoln flew through the air with his flesh choked katana clenched tightly between his rugged digits, using his blade to mercilessly behead a line of heavily armored Tyrannosaurus-Rexes.

Anne Frank skewered hundreds of Communist goblin-kin with her battle axe. She darted ahead and dove into the fray, gracefully hewing off the arm of the sodomous Marxist general known as _Arthur Read._ Anne Frank narrowed her eyes, catching the severed appendage on descent and using it to bludgeon the impious aardvark to death without mercy.

Dwayne Johnson flinched as the ground beneath his feet began to ripple and quake. He watched in horror as unutterably monolithic Communist battle-worms rose from the dirt. Their subterranean tunnels opened great chasms and sinkholes in the earth that swallowed hundreds of American fighters, burying them in the soil.

Hordes of exoskeleton swaddled Nazi SS soldiers riding astride great siege beasts emerged from the underground burrows. As was described in legend, all were repulsive creatures marred hundreds of ages past by Adolf Hitler's dark influence.

"The cesspits of Auschwitz have been emptied! _The Nazi legions are upon us!"_ Guy Fieri snarled with an exasperated grumble, watching as the enemy reinforcements poured in from the north. The Nazis were a twisted subrace of Communists bred by Hitler during the wars of old, and they were known far and wide as uncontrollable super soldiers with an unearthly tolerance for pain. Truly, these were the most foul and depraved type of socialist an American could encounter in battle.

"Of all the niggers I've encountered, these guys have got to be the niggest! Reform the line, quickly!" Larry Bird, the captain of the battleship Uncle Sam, barked with a commanding presence. The greatly diminished and weary American forces regrouped, straddling their heavenly motorcycles and riding to face these ill-bred foes of George Washington.

Chairman Mao, the commander of Karl Marx's armies, watched the carnage unfold from atop the walls of Wolfsschanze's iron gates. He threw back his head and laughed, "The Americans cannot fight a war on two fronts! Communists, Nazis, cast down these vile patriots like the plague they are!"

Winnie the Pooh used a hatchet to hew off the head of a Nazi spearman from the lower jaw upwards. He turned his motorcycle, ramming at full speed into a bloodthirsty horde of velociraptors. Mercenary Pooh flew from his Harley at an incredible velocity, flung thousands of feet into the air.

He grinded his brass knuckles together as he fell and landed atop the head of a savage Nazi battle-troll. The golden furred bear took hold of the reins of this anuran monstrosity, making this gargantuan ogre-slave his bitch and leading it headfirst into the fray. The membranous-fleshed troll at Pooh's command bayed at the moon, parting the endless waves of Marxist and Nazi soldiers scrambling to flee with its war hammer.

The legendary Mystery Machine flew across this raging battlefield. The warlord Scooby-Doo leaned out of the window, mowing down countless enemy soldiers with his gatling gun. "Like, _zoinks!_ This is for killing our friends, you Commie bastards!" Shaggy roared with a guttural growl. He forced another handful of Scooby snacks down his gullet and slammed his foot on the pedals.

"Prepare for ramming speed!" Scooby-Doo howled as he skewered thousands of Communists and Nazis upon the hood of the Mystery Machine. He collided with an enemy siege cannon, incinerating both vehicles in a glorious fuckfire that could be seen from lightyears away. Anne Frank inexplicably adopts a Jamaican accent.

Abraham Lincoln skewered Penn Jillette on the blood drenched earth beneath. He then turned his head to face this wretched magister's platoon of hybrid Communazi berserkers. Abe Lincoln's warrior cock cooed with a demonic fervor, thirsting for godless bloodshed. A small laugh escaped from the president's gritted teeth as he rose his head. Lincoln tore his diamond-encrusted belt asunder and sent countless Marxists flying into the depths of space with a puissant groin thrust.

"Fools! You dare to call yourselves Communists? The Americans are making a mockery of Karl Marx and his heavenly empire! I suppose I'll have to crush this rebellion myself, like always…" The prideful Chairman Mao haughtily ambled onto the field. He decimated a great multitude of American warlords with a single kiai shout, and their fleshy viscera and entrails rained down from the sky and bathed the populace in blood.

Garfield unsheathed his chainsaw-nunchuks and bolted towards this great and ancient foe. However, before he could land a hit, Mao Zedong effortlessly caught the feline warmaster's roaring chainsaw blade between his teeth. With a single bite, the puissant Communist general shattered Garfield's weapon with his jaw, sending him flying.

He turned to pummel the thunderstruck man-cat into the dirt with his hefty fists. "You're the general of the Communist armies, right? Perhaps this will prove to be a more entertaining fight than the rest of your pathetic rabble!" Putin quipped with a sly grin. He dismounted from his snarling war-bear and removed his cutlass from its gilded sheath.

Lincoln respectfully lowered his head towards Vladimir Putin, "Right behind you, comrade." The two sweaty warlords lunged for Chairman Mao, preparing for a duel. This wretched helldaemon legionnaire easily held his own against nearly all of their bedraggled strikes and attacks. The air undulated with a heavy, dark energy as Mao swept in, swiftly catching Putin's leg and lobbing him into the heavens above. Chairman Mao then reached deep with his tattered cloak, pulling out an iron chain and using it to bind Abraham Lincoln.

The Marxist warlord tightened his grip on Lincoln's restraints, constricting the air supply of this pious demigod. He gritted his teeth and spoke with a growl, "Why can't you foolish American vermin just stay dead? Our lord Karl Marx has already won. Your ancient ways are extinct, no help will come to you now! You are helpless in your current state, you do not even have the right to bear arms!"

"You have a point, ye' foul Communist…" Abraham Lincoln ceased his struggling and simpered craftily. "I do not have the right to bear arms. But, I do have the right to **_BEAR LEGS_** _!_ _"_ Honest Abe cried out to the heavens above as he transmuted his legs into that of the swart, firmly muscled appendages of a grizzly bear. Lincoln broke the chains that ensnared him with little effort and leapt forward, mercilessly mauling Chairman Mao with his hairy extremities and razor sharp claws.

Abe Lincoln barbarously impaled Mao Zedong through the abdomen with an incalculably fast one-inch punch. "...Fuck!" Chairman Mao whimpered as he recognized defeat. Lincoln smiled, hewing off all of the Communist's limbs with his mutated legs and obliterating his body with a single energy blast.

 _"USA! USA! USA!"_ The American people cried out in joyous song, cheering Honest Abe on as he slaughtered thousands of Communist soldiers in a frenzied, patriotic fuckrage. Garfield knelt down, scrambling to recover what was left of his chainsaw-nunchuks, the rotund feline's sole memento from his adoptive father and master, Jon Arbuckle.

Garfield lifted the severed metal chain that bound the two weapons, and a bold plot took shape in his mind as he pivoted his gaze to a river in the distance. The fuckraging hell-lord gritted his teeth and plunged his bare fists into the murky depths below, wrestling two separate alligators into submission and binding their squirming tails with the metal links at his disposal.

 _"Alligator nunchuks, motherfuckers! GOD BLESS AMERICA!"_ Garfield roared with a patriotic fervor, using his new weapon and murderizing the fuck out of thousands of Leninist battle beasts and their riders.

Bert and Ernie participated in the dogfight in the skies above the Communist homeworld in their jet. They homed in on the enemy, firing off their full salvo of photon-torpedoes and obliterating the Marxist fighters that flanked them.

"We can't take much more of this!" Ernie wiped the nervous sweat trickling from his forehead, watching as the biker fleet's mightiest battleship, _The American Dream,_ was blown out of the sky by a Grundrisse-class war vessel. Coordinating an attack with a fleet of Colonial Vipers and the fighter Swordfish II, Bert and Ernie darted at full burn towards the Marxist flagship, _"The Happy Madison."_

Honest Abe stood aghast, watching as the American armies at his command continued to diminish in number against the overwhelming malice of the Communist empire. Lincoln pivoted his gaze to Putin and helped the weary Russian lord rise to his feet. "We may be the stronger force in this war, but the Commies have us beat in sheer numbers. The only way we're going to win this battle is if we can take Karl Marx's palace for ourselves, and that's exactly what I intend to do!" He said.

Captain Picard was rendered speechless, "Ten billion warriors stand between you and Karl Marx's fortress city. You can't expect to fight your way to Wolfsschanze single-handedly! Those gates are impregnable."

Lincoln furrowed his brow, watching as the plasma turrets lining the doors into Marx's stronghold easily wiped out every American soldier within a radius of several hundred feet. "Who said he'd be alone?" Garfield cheerfully cachinnated. He and the courageous warriors of the Biker Brethren led in a cavalry of velociraptors clad in technologically advanced riot gear, one for each of the fearless space bikers. Lincoln climbed atop one of these saurian hellbeasts and raised his guitar to the sky, rallying his mightiest warlords to battle.

"Cheeky bastards, all of you! You have the heart of a warrior and the spirit of a Russian! Godspeed!" Vladimir Putin boomed with thunderous laughter. He quaffed heartily from his flask of vodka as the Biker Brethren and their velociraptor army cleared a path towards the birthplace of Communism, their final target.

The war cry of the Biker Brethren echoed throughout the entire Americaverse as they unflinchingly charged straight for the innumerable Communist legions. Honest Abe roared with a throaty black metal screech, and thousands of enemy heads were sent flying as the bikers carved a path directly through the bulk of Marx's armies. "Fuck yeah, America!" Anne Frank cried at the top of her lungs, using her velociraptor steed to topple a Nazi tank with ease.

"Watch out, lads!" Garfield caterwauled in a hoarse voice. He used his alligator-nunchuks to fend off a pack of hellhounds that were slowly gaining on the Bikers, trailing closely behind them. Winnie the Pooh charged in atop his Nazi battle-troll and righteously skewered all of the depraved beasts in the Biker Brethren's path. He saluted Abe, "Keep going, stars and stripes! I've got your back!"

Bert and Ernie plummeted through the stratosphere and dive-bombed the Communist warship in their fighter, buying time for the entire fleet to concentrate their firepower towards the bridge of the Marxist flagship.

"Eh-oh!" The enslaved Teletubby pilots at the helm cried out godless profanities in an incomprehensible language. All four of these wretched daemon spawn were instantly incinerated in the ensuing explosion, burnt to cinders. The Happy Madison grazed Ernie's fighter as it plunged below the clouds, critically damaging the vessel's engines. Ernie shook with fear, "Shit, we're going down! Brace for impact, rubber ducky!"

Dwayne Johnson's raised the People's Eyebrow in surprise, watching as hundreds of Communist soldiers gunned down their leaders and turned to join the Biker Brethren in their assault on the Wolf's Lair, "Wait, what's going on? Why are those Communists helping us?"

Winnie the Pooh flinched as he wrestled an armored Nazi mech to the ground with his loyal beast-slave. He shrugged, "Who the fuck cares? Just make sure they don't get in my way. I will be the one to slay the shit out of Karl Marx and restore my Communist honor!"

Charles Darkley grinned with a sadistic smile, watching as the Biker Brethren and their allies joined together for the final strike on Karl Marx's keep. "It's just as you said, master. Soon, Wolfsschanze will be destroyed, and Adolf Hitler will reach his ultimate power. But, I must ask: why couldn't we simply let Hitler destroy this miserable world without the Americans?" He asked.

Dr. Mengele pursed his lips and chuckled. He rested his bony, knurled fingers upon the head of his ultimate creation, "Forsooth, there are some forces I fear that even Hitler himself cannot handle in his current state. This Abraham Lincoln worries me especially. If he were to rejoin Karl Marx and become whole, it's possible he could even destroy him and ruin the plans of our benefactor. That's why both sides must fight to the death before Hitler's arrival. This way, we can ensure that Adolf Hitler will become a god and destroy the Americaverse, just as we and the Harlem Globetrotters planned all those centuries ago..."

Demolitions-expert _Kermit the Frog_ fired a ballistic missile into the doors leading into Marx's hells of iron, the sole means of access and egress into this legendary citadel. The besotted Muppet stood aghast, finding that his strongest weapons had little effect against the heavily reinforced entranceway. Above, the Communists positioned along the rampart above did their best to wipe out the American forces. They poured out a cauldron of scalding acid that reduced Mr. Snuffleupagus and Shrek into a fleshy, writhing heap that reeked of decay.

Abraham Lincoln rode perched atop the shoulder of _Evangelion Unit-01._ This monolithic beast charged ahead, managing to open a small fissure in the gate before being blown to boiling slag by Nazi cavalry men, killing its pilot. The maw of the heavens above opened wide as unutterable billions of star-spangled bald eagles poured down, arriving to the aid of the Americans forces. These avian hellbeasts thirsted solely for the blood of Communists, and they skewered a number of Marxist soldiers far beyond reckoning between their razor sharp beaks.

The mighty lord of all eagles, Freedom-Song, uttered a throaty caw as he led the charge against the Nazi masses. The eagle lord swept down and caught Honest Abe on his descent, allowing him to ride upon his back. Lincoln then wildly fired off the full forces of his twin machine guns into the night as the heavenly eagle nobleman hunted down and slew all of the Communist forces still loyal to Karl Marx.

Millions upon millions of skewered Marxist corpses were stacked to the heavens, and many of the eagles swooped down and devoured their fresh carrion. Freedom-Song and his feathered kinspeople dived and used themselves as battering rams, instantly shattering the impenetrable doors into the Wolf's Lair.

 _" **GOD BLESS AMERICA**!" _ Abraham Lincoln and the fearless Biker Brethren led the charge into the streets of the fortress city. Behind them trailed a host of ten billion American warlords, the mightiest patriotic force ever assembled in the entire history of George Washington and the Americaverse. **_It was metal as fuck._**

The united American army easily parted the waves of Communist blackguards from before them, and their legendary patriotic spirit radiated with a red, white, and blue aura that could be seen throughout the entire Americaverse. Honest Abe handed Dr. Steve Brule the reins to his eagle mount as he dismounted. He brushed past Vladimir Putin as he and the Biker Brethren broke off from the attack and carved a path towards Karl Marx's palace. "May George Washington save your soul…" Captain Picard tearfully saluted Honest Abe.

Winnie the Pooh unsheathed his battle halberd, facing down the elite guardians of Karl Marx that blocked the path to their wretched lord's throne room. "Go on ahead!" Mercenary Pooh began in a low voice, "I'll take care of these hollering fucklords. You make sure that Karl Marx is slain, you hear?"

Honest Abe rested his rugged digits upon Pooh's shoulder in concern, "Pooh, what are you planning? This is no petty rabble of Marxist fucklings, all of his elite are at least as powerful as Taylor Swift once was! You'll get slaughtered!" The golden furred bear grinned saucily, bearing all of his ivory fangs, "I'm a Communist, you think I didn't know that? _You goddamn baka…"_

"Listen closely, stars and stripes: I'm not doing this for you or your dumbshit country. I am the deadliest assassin in all of the Americaverse! I don't give a shit who these guys are, they're absolutely no match for me! Twice, I've been shamed in battle: first by you and Sonic, and then by Karl Marx. But, my warrior pride will never break! To a Communist, there's nothing more important than honor! I will regain that honor, even if it means dying here and now!" Winnie the Pooh snarled with a cocksure grin, resolute in his mission.

Honest Abe solemnly bowed his head. He parted ways with Pooh with a silent salute, the ultimate honor that can be given by any member of American nobility. "Also, I forgot one last thing: if you see that smirking douche Sonic again, tell him about what I did here. That fagslave needs to learn who's truly the best!" He laughed.

"Today is a great fucking day to die! You Commie bastards can all go straight to hell!" Winnie the Pooh cackled, firing off a salvo from his minigun into the crowd that mowed down countless servants of Karl Marx. Blood spewed from Pooh's mouth as he felt the blade of an axe enter him from behind, slicing away at his flesh. The Communist warlords formed a firing line, filling this indomitable mercenary full of bullets.

"Right back up your ugly ass, motherfuckers!" Winnie the Pooh roared with a guttural snarl, charging ahead and hewing the staff off of a spear embedded in his abdomen. Pooh threw himself into the fray, impaling a Communist warlord through the face and out the other side using only his bare fist.

Winnie the Pooh winced with pain as a Communist warmaster entombed in the ancient golden armor of Adolf Hitler reared in and sliced off his right arm. Pooh slowly staggered back to his feet. His vision blurred from blood loss as he nursed the oozing stump at his side, "You think that weak shit is gonna stop _ME?_ I'm different than scum like you, I am a legend! The heavy metal blood of a warrior runs through my veins!" Pooh forced the barrel of his rifle down his assailant's mouth, disemboweling the churlish Communist swordthain before him with buckshot.

Winnie the Pooh tore his leather biker jacket asunder, revealing that his waist was adorned with several hundred pounds of dynamite and a menagerie of other explosives. "I have a rumbly in my tumbly, and it ain't gonna' be satisfied until every last one of you bastards drop dead! _GET FUCKED!"_ Winnie the Pooh beamed wide. He removed the cigar from his mouth, using it to ignite the explosives strapped around his chest.

The foundation of the Communist homeworld shook as Pooh and his sodomous enemies went up in a holy astral fuckflame, wholly annihilating all living matter for miles. " _...So, this is what it feels like to be an American, eh? Not bad. I'm counting on you, stars and stripes. Honor my last wish, go and slay Karl Marx like the punk bitch he is!"_

A single tear fell from Winnie the Pooh's battle scarred face as his body was incinerated in the building inferno. _"Oh...oh bother…"_

"The Americans are advancing in on our location. What are your orders?" Donald Trump questioned, spending the time by fiddling with a small fire lit in the palm of his hand. Karl Marx pursed his chapped lips and pivoted his beady gaze to the five surviving members that made up the Quorum of Communism. "Evacuate the civilians into the bunkers underneath Wolfsschanze. When the Biker Brethren come, we'll be ready from them," He said, extremely confident in his ability.


	28. The Demons of McDonald's

**ATTENTION CITY OF** **SHEBOYGAN, WISCONSIN: NO, I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR JURY DUTY. I AM BUSY SERVING OUR COUNTRY BY WRITING PATRIOTIC FANFICTION. PLEASE STOP SENDING ME THESE LETTERS.**

 _Days until Adolf Hitler arrives: 2_

The Biker Brethren descended into the orgy pits of Karl Marx's palace and skewered all of the hedonistic Communist noblemen and the shameless harlots that serviced them. Abraham Lincoln slapped the chalice of wine out of Spongebob's hands and drew back his katana, disemboweling this bondage gear clad regent with little effort.

Garfield spat upon the corpses strewn at his feet, "It sickens me. While we Americans are worked to death as slaves by the Communist empire, these pompous bastards get to live like kings. Can't we just massacre all of them and be done with it? They wouldn't think twice about doing such a thing to our people."

Honest Abe shook his head, "I've certainly felt the temptation to do the same, old friend. But would we really be that different from their wretched kind if we did such a thing? Would such an act truly be righteous in the eyes of Washington-sama? I don't believe that to be so."

This righteous and fair demigod erected his electric guitar to the sky and charged without fear into the throne room of Karl Marx's infamous palace. He spoke with a smile, "We're going to complete the mission we came here for: slay Karl Marx and bring down his impious regime, once and for all!" Garfield's erotic swimsuit calendar is a huge disaster.

"My beautiful joy-boy! Are you alright? Speak to me!" Ernie cried out as he clawed his way out of the flaming wreckage of his starfighter. He ran to Bert's side with a look of concern upon his face. "Y-Yeah. I think a few of my ribs are broken, but I'll survive," Bert rasped as he straightened his greasy mohawk.

He lifted his chin, staring longingly into his partner's shimmering eyes. "You're whacked like a welfare pimp, nigga. I wasn't asking you!" Ernie cleared his throat, sifting through the rubble at his feet. "I was asking _Rubber Ducky!"_

"Oh, _I see…"_ Bert bowed his head in defeat, crushed. "Rubber Ducky, you're the one!" Ernie said and passionately caressed the toy duck with his puckered Muppet groin. After he finished his perverted display of affection, he shoved him into his back pocket for safekeeping. Bert crinkled his nose, overcome with jealousy.

Ernie unsheathed his scythe and ushered for his partner to follow as he burgeoned forth, charging into the raging battle taking place in the cities of Wolfsschanze. "Come on, the Biker Brethren need us! We can't let 'em face off against Karl Marx all by themselves!" He yelled over the tumult of the battle.

"Stars and stripes! Did you miss me?" The familiar, gravelly voice of _Mercenary Pooh_ echoed from the distance. Honest Abe obstructed his arm in the Biker Brethrens' path as they ran to greet their presumably deceased companion.

"Hold your ground! That's not Winnie the Pooh…" Lincoln warned. The golden furred impostor lurched forward and out of the cover of shadows. His face and body buckled with awkward, spasmodic movements, reminiscent of an automaton's poor attempt at replicating human life. Pooh's doppelganger furrowed its brow in annoyance, "I bet you think you're very clever, don't you? Very well, if you insist, we can do this the hard way."

"...Rosa Luxemburg. I'd recognize the ki of this foul skinchanger anywhere!" Dwayne Johnson snarled. He hardened his forearms into stone and watched with disgust as this baneful archdaemon contorted herself back into her primary form.

"Did you really think you could storm into the palace of Karl Marx unchallenged? You Americans are more foolish than I thought!" Leon Trotsky swaggered forth with a maniacal cackle from behind his helmet, as his body was entombed in his signature mech suit. A smug grin spread across Donald Trump's face as he eyed The Rock standing in the corner, "Ah, choir boy! My symphony of the tortured dead is still waiting for you. Are you prepared to finish what we started on Kentucky Prime?"

Abraham Lincoln pivoted his gaze around the chamber, watching as all of Karl Marx's elite generals emerged from the shadows and encircled his patriotic order. Anne Frank recoiled and fired a laser beam from her eyes, staying the advancement of Marx's elite. Garfield shifted his weight into an unbalanced fighting stance and growled, "Luxemburg, Trotsky, Engels, Trump, and Sandler. Well, we can still handle them, right? After all, it's not like their master is here..."

The air palpitated with a thick, sepulchral energy as the final figure emerged from the blackness: a monstrous, shuddersome blight whose name no mere mortal fucklord or fuckthain dare utter aloud. A choir of satanic howls seemingly echoed throughout the chamber, growing in ferocity and intensity with each metallic clank from this aberrant, morbid cadaver's boots. Garfield could see his terrified visage reflected in the golden armor of this sordid, malignant lord as he drew nearer. He gulped, "...Karl Marx. I should have known. _God, I really hate Mondays!"_

Karl Marx swung his hammer and sickle with a devilish fervor, and even his servants were seemingly terrified at the prospect of witnessing their Communist lord at his full power. Adam Sandler II was collared, and this snarling fuckbeast was led in on a leash by his disgruntled father. "Abraham Lincoln, my detestable other half. It's been far too long!" Karl Marx bit down on his lower lip and chuckled. He flipped through the forbidden spell book of Mein Kampf, silently mouthing the words of hundreds of demonic sigils and noisome incantations. Garfield begins adding the suffix "chan" to everyone's name.

Marx jerked his hollering fuckmeister of a son behind him as he approached. Adam Sandler II gnawed away at the air, ferociously gnashing his teeth together and foaming from the mouth. The father of lies turned to face each of the dumbstruck members of Lincoln's holy fighting force, and a small laugh escaped from his knurled lips as he beheld the obvious confusion in their eyes. He raised an eyebrow, "Wait, what is this? You mean, my good friend Abraham Lincoln never told you about his troubled past? About how he created me and caused the deaths of _billions?_ For shame!"

The scantily clad temptress Rosa Luxemburg readjusted the hem of her latex dress, trying to anticipate the Communist lord's next move. "Perfect! I never thought I would be fortunate enough to see Marx's legendary talent for breaking American minds up close. Perhaps this battle can be won without so much as a single punch!" She mused with a sly grin.

The Biker Brethren stood silently, all pivoting their gaze to their crestfallen leader and anxiously waiting for Lincoln to refute the words of Marx. Garfield slowly lowered his alligator-nunchuks, rendered completely speechless as he could see the apparent guilt reflected upon the face of the Biker's leader. The brawny man-cat took hold of Honest Abe by the shoulders, "Laddy, say it isn't so! We all know Karl Marx is lying, you could never do something so horrible! Come on, tell that bastard off! Please, just tell us that he's talking shit!"

The space bikers tarried further, desperately awaiting Abe's response. Garfield trembled as he watched Lincoln hang his head in shame, unwilling to refute the words of Karl Marx's noisome tongue. He let out a deep sigh, "What he says is true, Garfield. All of it. I'm responsible for creating Karl Marx with the Patriotic Fission. I am the one who started the Ameripocalypse. All of the ruin you see before you is my fault."

"Almost, almost there! Come black president, hurry! Yes, hurry! Sandler knows _'The One'!_ The One does not tolerate being late, yes! Hurry, faster!" Adam Sandler croaked in a frantic voice, awkwardly scampering forward upon all-fours.

Barack Obama trailed closely behind, taking care to avoid the lava eddies on the edge of the worn stone path they traveled upon. "You keep mentioning this _'The One'_ character, but you've never told me who it is. Care to explain?" Obama wheezed, gagging on the volcanic ash that littered the air.

"Oh, yes! Good question, very good. The One is the _king of hell._ Very good friend of Sandler! Can help us escape, yes. The One tells us to come, so we come!" Adam Sandler shrieked in his signature, piercing falsetto. Barack Obama pinched his brow, "I should have guessed…"

After a tasking journey of righteous male bonding that lasted for ten long sectons, Obama and his deranged companion finally reached their destination. The swarthy president and his partner scaled the great mountain of flesh at the center of Hell and ascended a seemingly unending flight of stairs, culminating with both warlords collapsing in a sweaty, exhausted heap. Obama offered his sweaty hand towards Sandler, toting the bedraggled Communist on his back as he staggered before the gates of McTartarus, legendary iron fortress of The One.

The president watched as a bloated, repugnant creature bearing a swollen countenance that vaguely resembled a cheeseburger descended from the sky, eerily hovering above the ground and encircling Adam Sandler and his ally. Manifesting himself as a rotund and vast shape of darkness, this greasy, pustule-covered envoy was clearly no Communist.

The true name of this abhorred creature was known to no man or beast, and even he himself had forgotten it during his countless millennia of service. He drew nearer and began to speak, "My masters call Mayor McCheese. I am the voice of the _McDemons_ and the noble hierarchy of Hell. Do any of you wish to treat with the lord of the netherworld, _Demon King_ _Ronald McDonald?"_

A sickening laughter spewed forth from this spokesman's puckered, tumorous face as he finished. Obama recoiled, trying to hide his apparent disgust as he and Sandler shakily bowed before the creature. Sandler ushered Barack Obama forward, volunteering the reluctant president to convey their humble request. Anne Frank grossly misinterprets the meaning of "Casual Friday."

Barack Obama shuddered, feeling the ground beneath him seeming to unnaturally breath and undulate as he walked forward. Much to his disgust, the realm of the McDemons pulsated with an otherworldly presence that almost seemed alive. The ominous aura sent a chill down the president's spine as he prepared to speak, "We wish to leave this realm and travel back to the world of the Americaverse. Can your master help us?"

This McDemonic servant thoroughly inspected Sandler and Obama whilst hovering overhead, running his fingers through his thick, matted, all-beef hair as he formulated his decision. The swollen envoy bowed his head. "Normally, such a thing would be impossible, even for my heavenly masters. However, it appears that both of you are still somehow alive. Quite unusual for a denizen of the underworld. It appears we may be able to come to an agreement. Care to make a contract?" Mayor McCheese propositioned with a devilish smile, holding out his hand and materializing a calfskin parchment. He leaned forward, passing the document to Barack Obama.

The president scrutinized the document, unable to read the ancient language scribed in blood upon its surface. Obama furrowed his brow, "I may not be much of a fighter, but I do know a thing or two about signing documents such as this. You're trying to deceive us, aren't you?" Dwayne Johnson's new mutton chops are a surprise hit.

Mayor McCheese cracked a sly grin and shook his head, "Of course not. I'm bound by my honor as a lesser archdaemon to reveal everything that the document entails to you. There's only one stipulation: if you agree and sign the contract, _you will live to see the end of the final era of the Americaverse, unable to do anything to stop it."_

Just as Obama anticipated, the terms of the document did not seem to augur well for his or Sandler's future. He frowned, "And what the hell does that mean?"

"I cannot say. I'm only a voice for a much greater force, I don't write the terms. The risk is entirely yours to take," McCheese admitted bluntly. Obama was still unable to shake the feeling of intense unease he felt from Sandler's enigmatic allies. The president's hands trembled uncontrollably as he lifted up the contract, slicing a gash in his palm to write his signature in blood on the parchment. Such is a common practice in the American legal system.

"I've been useless for far too long. For generations, I've been known solely as the president who cowered and fled during the Ameripocalypse, the very moment when his people needed him the most. If I can help my country in even the smallest way, any form of damnation will be worth it. I can live with it..." Obama repeatedly reassured himself in a hushed voice. His signature illuminated with an unsettling corpse light as he laid down his quill. He trembled, "I… _I can live it…"_

"Are you sure that he can be trusted, Master Sandler? To me, this 'Barack Obama' seems like a liability to our cause." Adam Sandler slunk away during the godless ritual, coming face to face with the grandmaster of hell: Ronald McDonald. This emissary of evil manifested himself from a pile of corpses, and his McDemonic clergy sat athwart from his throne of putrefying flesh.

This monolithic harbinger of the Ameripocalypse knelt down to stand at Sandler's level, allowing the son of Karl Marx to get a close view of his full countenance. Ronald's gaping maw dripped with fresh blood, and his deathly pale skin almost resembled corpse paint in appearance. His bloody, pulsating brain was exposed atop his head, spilling out of his broken skull and appearing undeniably similar to a red wig from afar.

"Fear not, my lord," Adam Sandler spoke aloud with a cunning smile. He licked his lips and spoke, "Barack Obama is a key part to my plans for the Americaverse. There is nothing to be concerned about. I have it all under control."

With a flick of his index finger, Adolf Hitler instantly annihilated the planet _Vulcan._ Without so much as a sound, all of its inhabitants silently expired, drifting into the void with nary a trace of their existence left behind. This cosmic horror cracked a half-smile, as this distraction had assuaged his boredom for a brief moment.

Hitler traveled at a pace that transcended far beyond the speed of light, heading straight for the Communist homeworld. "The day of reckoning has almost arrived. Soon, I shall become a god infinitely more powerful than that detestable George Washington! The Americaverse will be mine to rule and destroy as I please!" He roared into the night.


	29. Fall of Communism

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA: CHAPTER 29: FALL OF COMMUNISM: ARC III OF THE "BIKER BRETHREN" SAGA**

 **DIRECTED BY HIDEAKI ANNO**

 _Days until Adolf Hitler arrives: 1…_

Donald Trump tore his shirt asunder, revealing his impossibly magnificent musculature and rippling abs that were heavily scarred from his participation in the battles of millennia past. Trump's golden mane shimmered, seemingly glowing in the dazzling light of the fire building atop his fingertips.

The Biker Brethren scrambled for cover as he homed in, setting the earth beneath ablaze with the undousable flames of hell. Dwayne Johnson charged directly through the billowing inferno, his stone skin protecting him as he leapt through the wheel of fire and struck Donald Trump down with his craggy fists. He roared, "Just bring it, bitch!"

The fruits of this disgraced American's training under the Communist Manifesto soon became apparent as he easily deflected all of The Rock's attacks. Dwayne burgeoned forth, and his eyes widened with shock as his foe vanished into thin air right before his fist could connect. Trump reappeared seconds later, utilizing an afterimage to sneak behind Dwayne and pound his face to the ground.

Trump hoisted The Rock skywards by his neck. He channeled all of his energy into one location, raising the temperature in his free arm to nearly triple the heat of a sun. The Rock mustered all of his willpower to stifle the screams of pain desperately wishing to escape from his gritted teeth, wincing as Trump savagely dug his flaming fist further into his flesh.

"I can see it now, choir boy! Visualize this: your severed head affixed to a pike standing before the doors of my glorious Trump Tower! It will be a thing of beauty, a testament to the sheer majesty of destruction and chaos! Don't you agree?" Donald Trump cackled with a sadistic smile. He leaned forward, saucily nibbling The Rock's ear as he continued to burn a gaping hole directly through his stomach. Guy Fieri makes a tidy profit from selling Jenkem.

"I… I can't understand you. You're an American, right? Why are you helping Karl Marx destroy your own people? Once Marx has no more use for you, he'll just dispose of you like he did with the rest of our kinsmen! Trust me, I've seen it happen before!" Dwayne Johnson rasped in a hoarse voice, gagging as he spat out several of his teeth. Also, his ribs.

Trump loosened his grip on The Rock's windpipe. He caressed the golden stubble on his chin as he pondered his opponent's question, "Simple curiosity, I suppose. I have no real loyalty to the Communists or anyone else, you see. I just want to know how the flames will look as the Americaverse goes up in ash! I want to hear the fire crackling as all of the Americans are immolated on a pyre stretching miles wide! I want to listen to the deafening chorus of screams as the life force bleeds out of every patriot in existence! To me, this seems like a good enough reason to kill billions. Aren't you curious too?"

Garfield fended off Friedrich Engels with his alligator-nunchuks, throwing his hands around this squirming fucklord's neck and lobbing him through the drywall. "Where the hell is Abe Lincoln? We can't fight these goddamn hamflaps without his help! We don't stand a chance!" The cat cried. Rosa Luxemburg transmogrified her right arm into a mighty serpent, constricting Anne Frank and beating her against the marble columns encircling the throne of Marx.

Anne Frank furrowed her brow, trying to cover up the exposed parts of her metallic skeleton where her skin had been peeled off. "Karl Marx has him in some sort of trance. By my calculations, there's nothing we can do to help in our current state. His fate now rests in the hands of George Washington…" She spoke in a cold voice. Garfield's new mullet almost gets everyone killed. Again.

Guy Fieri's face contorted into a smug grin. This culinary warlord nodded his head in approval, watching as his Communist master hovered his meaty digits over Lincoln's face and silently uttered the accursed words scribed inside of the ancient Niggernomicon of Mein Kampf.

"What is this place? Who are these people? Why… why are they all dead?" A deep shudder racked Lincoln's body as he opened his eyes and was greeted by the illusions Karl Marx implanted inside of his subconscious mind. This pious demigod found himself standing atop a heap of festering, deteriorating corpses that stretched on for miles, a sickening graveyard with no clear end in sight.

The heavenly rail-splitter gagged and fell to his knees, feeling the maggots dwelling within these putrefying bodies squirm and wriggle beneath his knotted fingers. Karl Marx attempted to stifle his laughter, "Don't you understand who they are, old friend? You're the one who put all of these bodies here, Lincoln. They're all your soldiers, and they died because of you. They died because of your greed, because of your avarice! And to think, you don't even know the faces of the lives you've sacrificed to attain your desires."

Marx crinkled his nose, "How disgusting…" The Father of Communism saucily moistened his lips with his forked tongue, pondering the most effective and pleasing method of breaking Honest Abe's psyche and will to fight. He drew back his lips and leered towards Lincoln. He reached down and lifted up the battered corpse of his grandson, Charles Barkley.

The president trembled with anger, "Let go of him, _you Communist FUCK!"_ Lincoln spat in a blind fuckrage, unsheathing his Chokutō blade and impetuously lunging at Karl Marx. A pleased look spread across the face of Lincoln's other half, as this depraved fuckwraith derived a twisted form of pleasure from watching his foe suffer.

The Communist lord beat Honest Abe down with his telekinetic abilities, pummeling him without so much as lifting a single finger. Marx knelt down and pried open Lincoln's eyelids, forcing him to watch as he incinerated Barkley's half-decomposed body and roared with a thunderous belly laugh all the while. Lincoln cried out with fury, "You fucking red bastard… you're just as sadistic as ever!"

"That may be true. However, what does that say about yourself? I am your copy, albeit a slightly skewed version. In the end, are we really so different? We both share the same goal: preserving the existence of our respective race by driving the other to extinction. Does that sound familiar to you?" Karl Marx ruminated about the nature of his and Lincoln's existence, spitefully digging his heel into the president's left eye while speaking. Honest Abe writhed in agony, struggling to break free of the psychic hold Marx used to hold him in place.

Lincoln shook his head, "I'm nothing like you, crater nipples. I fight solely to build a better future for my people, I have no interest in taking the lives of others! The Communists are the ones who have perpetuated this conflict for eons, even thousands of years after the wars ended. Don't you dare give me that shit about how we're the same!" Garfield decides to join the Crips and begins flashing gang signs that nobody understands.

Karl Marx pursed his soup coolers and scowled at Lincoln, "Don't pretend as if you are the righteous one in this situation, rail-splitter. You effectively sold your soul to become more powerful, to become more 'righteous' in the eyes of Washington-sama. You knew well of the risk and the dubious reputation of the Harlem Globetrotters when you submitted yourself to their experimentation, but that didn't stop you! You damned the Americaverse and its people just to satisfy your perverse lust for more power!"

Lincoln shakily rose to his feet, "I… I did what I had to do to save my people. They were on the losing side of the war, and I needed to become stronger to save them! The experimentation seemed like the only way. I could never have known that you would be-"

"Bullshit!" Karl Marx spat, striking Lincoln across the face with his Communist cock. "The American armies would have won the war if it weren't for your involvement! Despite being the son of Tupac Shakur, quite possibly the strongest American to ever grace this galaxy, you were seen as nothing but an embarrassment by your compatriots. You cowered in fear during the great wars of old, unable to bring yourself to kill the enemy. You acted out of shame, out of your desire to become even half the American your father and his kinsmen were! And because of your greed, you damned them all," He scolded.

 _"That damn kid of yours is a liability, 2Pac! He had that Communist general in his sights, and yet he refused to take the shot! He's a disgrace..." Daffy Duck spat on the ground. He then turned away from Tupac Shakur and his soldiers and stormed off in a fit of rage. A young Abraham Lincoln listened from inside of his tent as his father and his loyal compatriots argued by the campfire, debating Abe's future in the war effort._

 _"Daffy's right, boss. I love the kid, but he has a point. The battlefield is no place for those who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," Cory Baxter nodded, quaffing heartily from his flask of Jägermeister._

 _Tupac pinched his brow, "Alright, I won't lie to you. Lincoln is a bit of a screw-up, but I still love him more than anything in this world. I don't want to hear any more shit about kicking him out, you hear me? Just be patient. The battlefield can turn anyone into a true patriot. Abe will come around, you'll see!" Donald Trump seemed unconvinced, "You better hope so, commander. If you don't do something about him, we will."_

"You know what I say has merit, Lincoln. I share all of your memories! You were so desperate to prove your worth, weren't you? Now you're the strongest American in existence. But in exchange, you lost your family, your friends, and doomed the Americaverse. It was all worth it though, right?" Marx swung Abe's katana at the air and paced in circles around the president, plotting his next move. The Communist Lord cracked a sardonic grin and knelt down, repeatedly jabbing the blade into Lincoln's abdomen.

Marx dropped Abe's sword, taking out his hammer and sickle and preparing to use them to cleave Lincoln's head from his neck. Honest Abe closed his eyes, preparing to accept his grim fate, "If you're going to kill me, just do it already, you Mr. Clean-looking cracker. If you're not going to stop talking, I'll just chop my own head off and be done with it."

"You're not just gonna sit here and take that shit, are you pops?" A righteous laugh echoed from the distance, interrupting Marx before he could strike. A single Spalding™ basketball emerged in a ball of fire, lighting up the infinite blackness enveloping this accursed realm.

The heavenly B-Ball homed in towards Karl Marx, smashing into his face and sending him flying backwards like the punk bitch he truly was. "We've all made mistakes, father. If you truly wish to save our stars and stripes, then prove it! Take up that basketball and fight on the court for what you believe in! Be true to yourself, be true to your country, be a true American warrior!" The voice called out.

"M-Michael Jordan…" Lincoln wiped the tears from his eyes, warmly embracing his heavenly baller son. Abraham Lincoln and the spirit of Michael Jordan both tore their shirts asunder, unveiling their chiseled pectoral and abdominal muscles that shone impossibly bright with an otherworldly luminescence. With an unspoken agreement, Honest Abe and Air Jordan both took hold of their basketballs, slamming and jamming the fuck out of Karl Marx and shattering the illusionary realm he had created.

"If you can't slam with the best, jam with the rest, motherfucker!" Jordan and Lincoln cried out to the heavens above, mercilessly pummeling Karl Marx through the barriers of space and time. With a graceful slam dunk, Jordan shattered the walls of reality itself and opened a small fissure leading back to the Americaverse.

Michael Jordan smiled warmly, resting his trembling hands over his father and endowing him with all of his godlike strength. He bowed his head, "This is as far as I can go, dad. Take my power, finally earn the redemption you've dreamed of and slay the fuck out of that Commie bastard! Give my sacrifice meaning and save our patriotic galaxy!"

Lincoln created a miniature sun in the palm of his hand and used it to burn a hole straight through the Communist Lord's throat, breaking himself free from Marx's clutches. This righteous warmaster of gentlemanly patriotism flexed his throbbing muscles, admiring the godlike puissance gifted to him by his son. He spoke in a shaky voice, "This power… it's Michael Jordan's last wish! I won't let you down, son. Give me six hours to chop down a Communist, and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe!"

Lincoln knelt down and lifted up a tattered American flag that was carelessly strewn amongst the smouldering rubble. Honest Abe tied this artifact of star-spangled might around his neck, and this makeshift cape glistened with dazzling hues of red, white, and blue in the light of the rising sun.

Lincoln lifted his head, and his shimmering eyes seemingly peered into the souls of his patriotic kinsmen. "I know I have no right to ask any of you this. I betrayed our country, George Washington, and everything we stand for. But worst of all, I betrayed your trust in me. But, I must ask: will you help me fight the Communist menace, one last time?" He asked.

Garfield bowed his head and answered, "I'm not sure if we can forgive you for what you did, lad. Not yet, anyway. But long ago, we promised you that we would stand by your side until Karl Marx and his wicked regime were finally destroyed. And I intend to keep that promise, no matter what! Let's show these filthy Commies what America is made of!" The other bikers nodded their head, standing by Lincoln.

Karl Marx winced as he regenerated his injured flesh with his godless Nazi archmagick. "Fear not, my master..." Guy Fieri cackled, striking a fearsome pose and hovering his opened hand in front of his face. "The strongest Communist warrior stands before you. _And his name is John Cena!"_

Marx's eyes widened in surprise. "Ah, so that explains the strange energy signature I felt from you. Very well, if you insist. Don't disappoint me!" The Communist Lord ordered brusquely, taking a step back and awaiting Guy Cenafieri's carnage.

"I'm gonna' ride the freedom train straight up your ass! Choo-choo, motherfucker!" Bert and Ernie finally arrived and impetuously charged onto the raging battlefield, throwing themselves upon the possessed American with guns blazing.

"Bert and Ernie, my old servants. I take it that the Americans have corrupted you two with their lies? I quite enjoyed your company, it's such a shame that I'll have to kill you both for your treachery," Guy Cenafieri grumbled as he emerged from the smoke completely unscathed. He dashed ahead and hewed off Bert's left arm from the elbow downwards with an incalculably fast chop, striking him down. Ernie took position in front of his critically wounded ally, fending off the Communist's attacks with a flurry of weaponized grenade-ducks.

"...You're in my way. _LEAVE!"_ Guy Cenafieri snarled in a low voice. He caught Ernie off-guard and and began to pry the Muppet's jaw open with his blood stained hands. The Communist cracked a sickening grin, taking a firm hold of both sides of Ernie's face and bisecting this squirming fucklord in two straight down the middle. Bert trembled with fear, watching as Cena ripped apart his lover and spat upon his defiled corpse.

Tears of grief rolled down Bert's face as he cradled his fallen comrade. "You monster! Ernie was my lover, and you murdered him! I cared about him more than anything else in the world, he was my reason for living! We were going to grow old together one day! I'm… I'm going to make you suffer for what you did!" Bert snarled with a demonic roar, throwing himself upon Guy Cenafieri and pounding him in the stomach with his sole remaining arm. Cena rolled his eyes and exhaled deeply, flicking Bert into the wall with his index finger.

The Rock ran to the downed Muppet's aid and rested a caring hand atop his shoulder. "Sorry about your loss, young master. If it makes you feel any better, you didn't really have a chance with him anyway. All Ernie wanted to do was fuck that rubber duck of his. He was really messed up in the head," He consoled him. Garfield refuses to wear any clothing that isn't made of latex.

"Try and survive this, my ultimate trump card! Any mortal creature hit by this will become completely vaporized, right down to the last cell! _FLAVORTOWN REVENGE DEATH BURST!"_ Guy Cenafieri bellowed. His body became bathed in a red aura and his gold tipped hair stood on end as he prepared his ultimate attack. Barack Obama and Adam Sandler's bond deepens when they decide to start braiding each other's hair.

The Communist autarch froze in his tracks as he felt a hand lightly tap him on the shoulder from behind. "Man, just shut up already. Get out of here with that weak shit, nigga. I don't have time for this," Before he had time to react, Abraham Lincoln forced his fist down Guy's gullet and fired off an energy beam into his stomach that instantly annihilated the spirit of John Cena.

"Where are we? I can't remember anything since our fight with Cena. Mr. President, _what just...?"_ Guy Fieri rasped, now back in full control of his body. Honest Abe smiled, offering Fieri his hand and helping him to his feet, "Don't worry, old friend. I'll explain everything later. Right now, I've got a country to save!"

This heavenly rail-splitter stared down Karl Marx, standing alone in this wasteland of tension completely firm and unflinching. Marx's soldiers watched silently in anticipation as their master entered into a shaky fighting stance, raising his fists and preparing to make the first move.

Marx shuddered as an inescapable feeling of primal terror racked his body. The Communist lord quickly backed down and slowly stepped away from Lincoln, shaking as he spoke, "...If I had striked just now, he would have skewered me without even trying. It can't be possible, there's no way that Lincoln could have become this strong in such a short while! I… _I refuse to believe it!"_

Karl Marx awkwardly shifted around in his golden armor, trying in vain to spot a weak point in Lincoln's defenses. The father of lies lunged at Honest Abe, and his fists impacted his face with a force that could only be compared to ten thousand galaxies smashing into each other at once, erupting in a glorious hellfire of cosmic fuckferocity.

Despite being propelled thousands of feet into the distance from Marx's attack, Lincoln emerged from the billowing dust completely unscathed and undaunted. Karl Marx grinded his teeth together in anger, charging towards Lincoln at an electric speed and pummeling him through the reinforced walls of the Wolf's Lair, moving their fight to the skies above.

Lincoln and Marx clashed in the planet's atmosphere, appearing as two massive bursts of light smashing against each other in the distance. "To the window, to the wall! To the sweat drips down my balls, to all these bitches crawl!" Abraham Lincoln cried out the seraphic battlecry of his kinspeople. He flew in circles around the planet five hundred times in under a millisecond to further build up his godly speed as he dove in for the killing strike.

Karl Marx's defenses were immediately shattered as Honest Abe's boots collided with his face, sending the Marxist Lord flying directly through the planet's moon and hurdling helplessly into the depths of space. He roared with laughter, "All skeet skeet, motherfucker! _All skeet skeet, goddamn!"_

"I felt that one. Just barely, but I felt it. I had hoped I wouldn't have to demean myself by revealing my true power to a mere American, but it appears I have little choice. This battle is as good as done!" Karl Marx threatened, his ratty beard flailing wildly in the wind as he descended back into the orbit of Wolfsschanze.

"That's good to hear," Lincoln retorted with a sly grin. He smirked, "As long as we're being completely honest with each other, I have a confession to make: I've only been using a third of my patriotic energy up 'til this point."

"We can't let Lincoln have all the fun by himself! Let's show these Commie bastards how America rolls! Full throttle!" The restored Guy Fieri smirked, leaping and drop kicking Adam Sandler II to the ground. Bert followed suit, filling Marx's cloned son full of bullets with his flintlock pistol. He leapt in for the killing blow and burnt Adam Sandler to a crisp with his flamethrower. "That's for my precious Ernie, you Communist fucker!" He snapped.

Garfield tore his wife beater and blue jeans asunder. He knelt down, and his entire body became wreathed in the imperishable fuckflame of Washington's grace. The Communist generals then watched in horror as his rippling muscles swelled to several times their original size.

The portly man-cat underwent a drastic transformation to tower over his sodomous foes, revealing his true potential. Garfield grinned and saucily beckoned his assailants forward with a light laugh, "It's time for the super feline _Garzooka_ to whoop some Commie ass!"

Anne Frank furrowed her brow, watching as the nude feline flexed his rippling muscles. "Garfield, why aren't you wearing any pants? Are you some kind of hentai?" She asked. Garfield slowly shook his head, "Anne Frank, don't be that way. If you don't like my cat dick hangin' out, just don't look at it. Just look away. It's all an important part of my transformation. Trust me."

Donald Trump foolishly accepted Garzooka's challenge, using his flames to propel himself towards this firmly muscled patriot. Trump summoned a fire-wreathed sword from the smoldering bonfire surrounding him and skillfully clashed his blade against Garzooka's alligator-nunchuks.

The fearless American repeatedly socked Trump in the jaw, planting his face into the marble floors of Marx's palace with a suplex slam. Trump grinned, controlling the building fire of the inferno encircling this chamber autonomously and sending out hundreds of flaming hands to claw away at his star-spangled foe.

Despite his titanic strength, Garzooka was soon overwhelmed by Trump's last-ditch maneuver, struggling just to stay alive whilst fending off his desperate attack. The portly man-cat winced with pain as one of the embers darted directly through his arm, melting a dime-sized hole straight through the bone and emerging out the other side.

"Not bad, American! You'll make a fine addition to my choir of the damned. I wonder what screams you will bring to the chorus? There's so many possibilities!" Trump throatily cachinnated, having gained the clear advantage over his injured opponent. Donald Trump tipped his fedora, "Checkmate, faglord."

"I'm going to take this sword, shine it up real nice, and stick it straight up your candy ass!" Dwayne Johnson took hold of his broadsword and stealthily approached from behind. He swung his blade, severing Donald Trump in two along his waist with a single slice.

The Rock fell to his knees as the realization of what he had done to save Garfield's life set in, an act that went against his vow of never again taking the life of another. Dwayne held the skewered American in his arms, desperately trying to stifle the flow of blood streaming from every orifice in his body. Tears formed in his eyes as he spoke, "Come on dammit, stay with me! Don't die, we can make it through this! Wake up, you yabba dabba bitch!"

Trump managed a weak smile. Blood gurgled down his chin as he began to laugh hysterically into the night, "Heh, it's funny. I've ended the lives of thousands, but never before have I pondered what dying actually feels like. It's… it's a pleasurable sensation. For once in my life, the voices in my head have become completely silent. I love death, so I suppose it's only fitting that death loves me back. _Oh… oh my…"_ Dwayne Johnson silently watched as the light fled from Trump's eyes and his ravaged body fell limp in his arms.

Dwayne Johnson hung his head in shame. He rested his face upon the ground and wept bitterly, "Forgive me, Lauren. I broke my promise to you and took the life of this man. I've desecrated the memory of you and our child. I'm not fit to be an American…"

"Where the hell are the bitches at? I was told I was going to get a lapdance!" Sonic grumbled with a guttural snarl, sitting alongside the Wu-Tang Clan at the Alliance of True American Heroes' conference table. "Calm the fuck down, brother man. We've only been here for ten seconds. Here, have another toke of this and chill out," RZA reasoned with the genocidal hedgehog, passing him his dimebag of Wu-ijuana.

 **SONIC THE HEDGEHOG - Likes Chicks with Big Hooters**

"Turn that frown upside down, my joy boys! Hey, let's party off those pounds! Dance with me!" The effeminate warlord _Richard Simmons_ screeched in his whining falsetto, grinding his impossibly tight gym shorts against Sonic. The patriotic hedgehog brandished his flesh choked machete and grumbled, "If this fucker doesn't get the hell off of me, I'm gonna splatter his brains on the wall."

 **RICHARD SIMMONS - Sweatin' to the Oldies**

Method Woman caught Sonic's wrist before he could cleave off Richard Simmons's head with a hatchet. Ghostface Killah pursed his lips in disappointment, clearly having shared Sonic's opinion of the flamboyant American. Method Woman cocked her head to the side, tensing as the automated door leading into the chamber slid open. Without warning, she reeled over in pain, clutching her chest, "The harbingers of the Ameripocalypse have finally decided to show themselves…"

"So, this is the place? I never would have anticipated that you would be aiding the American resistance, Sandler! Perhaps I misjudged you," Barack Obama smiled, playfully nudging the son of Marx with his elbow. The members of the Alliance recoiled as Adam Sandler strode confidently into the room, seeming uncharacteristically uneasy around him. Paul Blart wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead, leading the duo to their seats, "Please, sit! Make yourselves at home. I'll get you some refreshments while you wait."

 **PAUL BLART - Mall Cop of the Apocalypse**

 **BARACK OBAMA AND ADAM SANDLER - Strange Bedfellows**

Sonic was taken aback by Blart's strangely subservient behavior. "Wait, what's the deal? I've seen that Sandler chumpfuck in battle before. American sympathizer or not, he's really nothing special. What's with everyone?" He asked. Ol' Dirty Bastard shrugged, too busy reading his filthy Doujinshi to pay any attention, "S'hard to say, pardner. I can't exactly blame 'em, he's a freaky lil' fucker. He gives me the creeps, too."

Barack Obama smiled, rushing to greet Sonic and his allies, "Sonic the Hedgehog, my old friend! I never expected that I'd see you here. How are the Biker Brethren doing?"

"No idea, I left them after the battle with those damn Communists. But, enough about me. How did you get here? Am I just trippin' again, or weren't you decked the fuck out by Kevin James?" Sonic questioned, currently blazed out of his mind. Colonel Sanders, the unofficial leader of the alliance, stood before this gathering of burly patriots and cleared his throat.

The Americans grew silent, eagerly waiting to hear the reason for why they had been summoned on such short notice. Sanders chuckled, "Alright, settle down. The day we've been waiting for has almost arrived. Very soon, we're going to make our move and dispose of both the Communists and the forces who intend to resurrect Hitler with one surgical strike. All of your training is about to pay off!"

 **COLONEL SANDERS - The Kentucky Fried Warlord**

Sanders intensely scrutinized the fearless Americans that made up the Alliance, "I don't believe all of you have become fully acquainted yet. We're going to be working together very closely for the next several days, so I believe now it would be prudent to properly introduce all of our senior members."

Sonic grumbled under his breath, "Shit, we're not gonna have to talk about our feelings or any gay shit like that, right sensei?" Colonel Sanders bowed his head and laughed, "You remind me of myself when I was younger, boy. Full of angst and dumb as shit. I've trained you well!"

"The first of our elite unit is _Hank Hill,_ our heavy weapons specialist and mine sweeper. He's well known for his unbeatable Zui Quan fighting style and unmatched brute strength. His raw power will be vital for fending off the Communist vanguard in the battle ahead." Hank Hill recoiled, shifting around uneasily in his seat as Adam Sandler stared directly at him from across the table, "...That boy ain't right."

 **HANK HILL - The Drunken Fist**

"To the left of him is _DMX,_ the legendary Were-Dog. He's a berserker to his core, said to have become more beast than man during his service in the Communist Wars. He's slain more Commies than all of us put together, and it's rumored he even drinks their blood to gain their strength. He may be unhinged, but he's also fiercely loyal and never leaves a fellow soldier behind." DMX remained silent, too busy devouring a slab of raw Communist meat.

 **DMX - King of the Hellhounds**

"Next up is _Caillou,_ our resident sniper and expert in the art of breaking and entering. We first heard of him when he was imprisoned for his nasty cocaine habit. In the span of a single month, he broke out of jail ten thousand times, purposefully letting himself get caught just so he could try his hand at escaping again. He'll help us get in, and out, of the Communists' lair when the time comes." Caillou showily pulled out his glock and gritted his teeth, revealing his bedazzled grill, "Killin' niggaz is not so tough, 'cept when I've had enough. But there's lots of fun stuff, I'm Caillou!"

 **CAILLOU - The Bald Motherfucker**

"Our final members are _Ignignokt, Err, Kneesocks,_ and the _Burger King._ They're our dedicated team of specialists that will help us disable Wolfsschanze's defense grid. They may not fight on the front-lines, but don't underestimate their combat ability! They're the best when it comes to strategy, and they're extremely proficient at hand-to-hand combat." Ghostface Killah raised an eyebrow, noticing that the four sat positioned on both sides of Adam Sandler, almost as if they were guarding him.

 **IGNIGNOKT AND ERR - Bastards from the Moon**

 **KNEESOCKS - The Demoness**

 **THE BURGER KING - Divine Master of all Hamburger-kin**

"I already hate all of these goddamn people. I can't even remember the names of who I know now, how am I supposed to remember these rank ass poon-pubs? Don't you agree, _PZA?"_ Sonic asked. The leader of the Wu-Tang Clan pinched his brow, "Sonic, my name is _RZA..."_

Colonel Sanders withdrew a data chip from deep within his jockstrap and placed it inside of a terminal located in the center of the chamber. This device projected a holographic representation of the Americans' intricate battle plans, along with their primary targets: Dr. Mengele and Donald Trump. "Wait, _that's...!"_ Sonic rose from his seat, instantly recognizing the face of the man who murdered his deadbeat father.

Colonel Sanders nodded, "From the intel we've gathered, we believe they're both in league with the Harlem Globetrotters, one of the groups Nixon claimed to be responsible for the coming resurrection of Adolf Hitler. They've implanted themselves in the Communist empire, secretly using their power and wealth to rebuild their ancient order. Needless to say, they need to be stopped before their goals can be completed."

Hank Hill leaned back in his chair and frowned, "The Globetrotters, eh? I thought those bastards disbanded after the wars. But, what's their connection with Trump? Isn't that fedora-wearing negrophile insane?"

"I used to serve with a few men who claimed to have known him back in the wars. Apparently, he used to be pretty normal. That is, until he decided to let those depraved freaks experiment on him. He gained those fire powers of his, but rumors say it also made him lose his mind. Maybe he feels indebted to them? Or maybe he's just doing it for an excuse to kill people. I wouldn't put it past him," Paul Blart theorized, removing the blade of grass from between his teeth and crossing his arms. Sonic began scribbling poorly drawn swastikas on everything to pass the time.

Colonel Sanders lowered his head, acknowledging his theory, "It's possible. But, regardless of their motives, our mission remains the same: assassinate Karl Marx and the Globetrotter spies. Of course, there's one final combat exercise we need to have before we set out…" All of the Alliance's senior members turned to each other with nervous glares, knowing full well what was about to come next. _"...The Newbie-Crushing event."_

RZA gulped, "I really don't like the sound of that, man…" During the commotion, Method Woman quietly snuck out of the crowded hall and into the corridors of the alliance's subterranean base. She unbuttoned her shirt, revealing an 'M' shaped brand burned into her sternum.

This sigil pulsated with a dark energy, glowing red-hot and oozing blood down her torso. _"The crest of tha McDemons…_ it only does that when another one who bears tha same brand is near. Though, since you seem t'know everythin', I suppose you'd already know who it is," Ol' Dirty Bastard emerged from the cover of darkness, startling his companion. "I was there when yer pops made his sacrifice fer you. I heard the whole prophecy. So, who's gon' fulfill it?"

"W-Where did you?" Method Woman stuttered, quickly buttoning up her jacket. ODB chuckled, "When ya get to be ten thousand years old like I am, ya pick up on a few tricks. I may be an old ass nigga, but mah Wu-Tang discipline is as sharp as ever. So, who's the other varmint with the brand of the McDemons?"

Method Woman lowered her head, her face looking grim, "The future is still foggy on that. However, I've narrowed it down to two: Barack Obama or Adam Sandler. One of these two will bring about the end of not only the Americaverse, but the entire patriotic universe as we know it..."

"I applaud your effort! Of all the millions of warriors I've faced, you're the only one who's ever managed to survive this long!" Karl Marx praised, continuing to clash with the heavenly president in the planet's stratosphere. Sparks of electricity ran down Marx's body as he charged his ultimate attack: a black magick energy beam that held enough raw power to eliminate an entire solar system and all of its inhabitants. Lincoln hastily copied the Communist's desperate maneuver, charging a blast with the exact same destructive capability.

This clash of godlike power was interrupted as a maelstrom of energy attacks rained down from the sky, setting the surface of the planet beneath ablaze and leaving behind a continent-sized crater that stretched for hundreds of miles. Lincoln directed his gaze to the stars, rendered completely frozen with terror, "No, it can't be! Not at a time like this! Damn it all!"

Adolf Hitler hovered above Wolfsschanze, preparing to wipe out the entire planet with a single strike. He threw back his head and laughed like a madman, "The time of the Americans and Communists has passed. The age of the Nazis has finally begun!"

 _Days until Adolf Hitler arrives: 0_


	30. The Final Battle Begins

**I DEDICATE THIS STORY TO ALL OF THE BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN IN THE MILITARY. NOW, BACK TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S FIGHT WITH HITLER.**

"All is lost! Quickly, escape! He's coming, there's no chance of survival! We've got to hurry!" The cowardly Marxist noblemen cried out into the night, stuffing their pockets with as many valuables as they could carry as they frantically darted towards the bunker's escape pods. Adolf Hitler used the fleeing ships for target practice, incinerating all of them before they could escape the orbit of the Wolf's Lair.

Realizing their common enemy, the Americans and Communists stood together, forming a firing line and unleashing their full salvo of nuclear missiles upon this unutterable monstrosity. Hitler deflected all of the attacks with his index finger, barely breaking a sweat as he withstood a blast that stretched for miles wide.

"Damn it all! That attack had the destructive power to level an entire solar system, and that bastard just shrugged it off! _What the hell is that thing?!"_ Bert cried in a panicked voice, beginning to hyperventilate and lose his composure.

Adolf Hitler strafed the cities and villages beneath with an energy beam, opening a chasm in the earth that swallowed hundreds of American and Marxist soldiers. "He's even stronger than when I fought him. How did he attain such godly power in such a short time?" Lincoln questioned Karl Marx, having halted their duel to the death to confront the situation at hand.

"The Galactic Swastika..." Karl Marx paused, lifting his chin to the skies above, "It's almost complete. With each planet added to that daemonic rune, Hitler becomes vastly more powerful, infinitely more so than the time you challenged him. Coincidentally, Wolfsschanze is the last world he needs to destroy to fully complete it. If he can eliminate the homeworld of Communism, his power will truly be equal to the gods!"

Even Abraham Lincoln couldn't hide the look of terror reflected on his face. The pious demigod trembled and shakily unsheathed his katana, "In that case, we can't just stand here and do nothing. I won't let Hitler crush all we've worked for!" Anne Frank discovers the joys of interpretive dance.

Karl Marx beamed wide, "You're absolutely insane, Lincoln. Unfortunately, that means I must be too. If I'm going to die, I might as well go down fighting for the glory of the Communist Manifesto!" Honest Abe and Karl Marx joined forces and transcended far beyond the speed of light as they charged straight for the godless führer.

Richard Nixon watched their desperate fight from the ground below, throwing back the hood covering his face as he strode through the flames for a closer look. Flashbacks of his father's own fateful battle with Hitler filled Nixon's mind, reminding him of just how hopeless their fight against this extragalactic horror was. Hitler caught Karl Marx's fist on impact, sadistically snapping all of the bones in the Communist lord's fingers with his free hand.

"Even after all I've done, the result is still the same: everyone I care about dies, and the Americaverse is plunged into darkness. Escape now, Lincoln! At least save yourself! Why do you fight when you already know the outcome? It's suicide!" Nixon fell to his knees and beat his fists against the ashen ground in defeat. He then watched in horror as Hitler relentlessly tortured Lincoln and Marx for his own depraved amusement.

Lincoln saw an opening and drove his oriental blade directly into Hitler's forehead. However, he stood aghast as his sword shattered on impact and didn't leave as much as a single scratch upon his necrotic flesh. Tricky Dick reached within his tattered trench coat and unsheathed the legendary Communist-Slayer, which he had stolen during his escape from the Jefferson Starship.

Hitler pummeled Honest Abe thousands of feet into the earth, cackling with barbarous glee as he continued to stomp upon his beaten face. "Hitler could kill him with a flick of his wrist if he wanted! But, _no!_ That sick bastard just wants to see Lincoln suffer. Why doesn't he just escape? Even when the odds are stacked completely against him, he still continues to fight. _Just like Garfield did when he saved my life…"_ Nixon maundered under his breath, taking a look at his reflection in the blade of this hallowed guitar. Tricky Dick was repulsed at the sight, beholding an American warrior trembling and overcome with fear, a shivering fuckling unfit to be called a patriot.

"I applaud you, rail-splitter! Of all the demigods I've had the pleasure to torture, only you have made it this long without screaming. Come now, cry out for me. If you give me the tortured howls of anguish I desire, I promise that I will give you a quick and painless death!" Hitler laughed and continued to drive his cleats into Lincoln's windpipe. He paused to burrow his filthy claws into the president's face, puncturing open his right eyeball with his blood stained talons.

Hitler grinned and revealed all of his rotting fangs, gouging out Lincoln's eye and showing it to him. He moistened his lips with his forked tongue, tossing back Lincoln's eye and grinding it to paste inside of his mouth.

Leon Trotsky activated the rocket thrusters of his weaponized mech suit and soared at an incredible velocity to aid his master in the skies above. Trotsky's chrome plated armor glistened in the red sun as he dove in for the kill, plummeting through the clouds and unleashing a massive volley of ten thousand heat seeking missiles upon this Nazi archdaemon.

Hitler loosened his hold on Honest Abe's throat to defend himself. He rended open the barriers of space and time with his claws, creating a void to swallow the Communist technomancer's explosives before they could reach their destination. Adolf Hitler then opened a second wormhole behind Leon Trotsky, redirecting his missiles through the fissure and savagely obliterating this Marxist fuckling with his own attack.

An army of identical Trotsky drones emerged from a hatch on the face of Marx's obsidian plated fortress, congregating together and forming a massive swarm of weaponized killing machines that charged straight for Hitler. The drones joined hands, gathering and assuming the form of a massive metallic fist. Trotsky's army of automaton soldiers pulverized Hitler upon impact, sending him flying helplessly into the vastness of space.

Leon Trotsky's pompous laughter echoed from the speakers of his drones as they fought, "Surprised, fagslave? What you see before you are just my robotic avatars, simple drones remotely controlled by my brilliant mind! As the brain behind Wolfsschanze's vast computer network, I can slay your punk ass without even having to leave the comfort of my lab! Now, prepare to feel the power of my _Cyber Communism!"_

The real Leon Trotsky remained unharmed, holed up deep within the walls of Karl Marx's palace. Thousands of multicolored wires ran out of every orifice in his frail body, integrating him into the planet's defense network and allowing him to survey the heated fight with Hitler from a safe distance.

Adolf Hitler drew back his index finger, yawning and firing off a blast that instantaneously wiped out Karl Marx's capital city and all of its inhabitants. "You… you goddamned baka gaijin!" Leon Trotsky pathetically wailed as he was disintegrated in the ensuing explosion, having been too busy boasting to realize that he had given away his only weakness.

The Marxist warlord Friedrich Engels darted across the battlefield, prepared to lay down his own life to avenge his fallen kinsmen. Tricky Dick clenched his fists, watching in silent horror as Hitler nonchalantly ripped out Engels's spine and crushed his skull beneath his boot.

"Why the hell are we bumpin' titties for these Americans, anyhow? Fuck this, I don't want to die. I'm getting out of here!" Rosa Luxemburg cowered in fear, hardening her heart to the plight of her comrades. She transformed herself into a raven and fled from this desolate battlefield, preserving her own miserable life. "Damned Communists. Don't you red bastards have any honor?" Garfield turned up his nose in disgust as he quaffed deeply from his flask of lasagna-whiskey.

"I'm done with hiding and working in the shadows. _It's time to rock the fuck out!"_ Nixon cried out with a seraphic roar, quoting the legendary words of his father, Sonic the Hedgehog. Tricky Dick emerged from the shadows and lobbed his holy guitar towards the president, "Take that guitar, Lincoln! Take it and save our stars and stripes! God bless America!"

Without hesitation, Honest Abe bolted upright and took a firm hold of the heavenly instrument of his forefathers, using it to cleave Hitler's face asunder from the jaw upwards and split his head into two separate halves. "S-Sugoi! Honest Abe-sama used the Communist-Slayer on Hitler! He's become worthy enough to wield it!" Anne Frank watched in awe, struggling to keep up with Lincoln and Marx's impossibly fast movements and attacks. She smiled, now full of hope, "The chances are slim, but he may actually have a shot at winning!"

Adolf Hitler was ruthlessly pile driven into the sea below by Karl Marx, planted hundreds of feet beneath the ocean floor and into the planet's crust. Lincoln and the lord of Communism pulverized his battered body even further into the earth, beating him down with a maelstrom of astral fuckflares and all manner of cosmic fuckbeams.

Abraham Lincoln soared into the heavens above and clasped Wolfsschanze's moon in his sweaty hands. He jauntily whistled the legendary tune of "Sweet Georgia Brown" as he returned with it, dribbling this monolithic celestial body with one hand. Lincoln then used the moon as a gargantuan basketball and slam dunked into the planet, wiping out Hitler and a third of this forsaken world in the process. _It was metal as fuck._

Honest Abe heartily guffawed into the night, spinning the moon atop his middle finger as he towed it back into its original orbit. "...I almost felt that one. _Almost._ Did you really think that such a pitiful attack would be able to stop _me?"_ Abraham Lincoln and Karl Marx stood completely frozen, too stricken with terror to move as they hearkened upon the unearthly voice of Adolf Hitler.

The führer regenerated his shredded flesh and splintered armor, demonstrating that even the godlike puissance of Honest Abe and the hallowed Communist-Slayer combined could do nothing to stop his wrath. Hitler confidently beckoned Lincoln forth, using telekinesis to drag one of Wolfsschanze's twin suns out of orbit and into his meaty hands. He laughed, "Now, if you had thrown the entire sun at me, then _maybe_ you would have had a chance at succeeding. Are you ready to see hell, you despicable American? Your patriotism is the fire in which you shall burn!"

The sun advanced at an incredibly velocity, inching nearer to the planet beneath. Abraham Lincoln obstructed himself between the Communist homeworld and its advancing sun and stretched out his arms. "There's no way I can deflect something like that, nor can I destroy it without also killing everyone on the planet. That damn Nazi prepared for every possible outcome! I've only got one shot at this: I have to take his attack head-on!" He gritted his teeth, bracing himself for impact.

Honest Abe used his own body to absorb the brunt of the blast. He winced with pain as his armor and coat of mail began to melt, glowing red-hot and trickling down his firmly muscled body. Lincoln then grasped the greatly diminished sun in his hands. He forced the fiery star down his gullet and swallowed it whole, allowing the ensuing supernova to occur inside of his body.

Completely drained of his star-spangled energy, Lincoln fell from the stratosphere, plummeting to the earth below. Richard Nixon frantically scrambled to the charred president's side, sliding down the impact crater he had been buried in and checking his wrist for a pulse. "Wake up, Lincoln! Are you alright? Speak to me!" He cried.

The president nodded his head and wiped away the stream of blood gurgling down his chin. "I've been through worse, comrade. I'll survive. However, I don't believe I'll be fighting again anytime soon. Withstanding that attack broke just about every bone in my entire body. To be honest, I can barely even move…" He admitted in a weak voice.

Tricky Dick recoiled as Adolf Hitler touched down on the planet and broke out into a dash, quickly advancing towards Lincoln's location. Nixon knelt down, dug the Communist-Slayer out of the rubble, and stared down the polypous abomination standing before him.

The Nazi smirked, "Richard Nixon, we meet again. Still desperately trying to rewrite your future, I take it? Haven't you learned what a waste of effort that is yet? Despite all of the innumerable things you've altered, absolutely nothing has changed. The memories you have of your time remain the same, despite the fact that many of those who made your future a reality are now dead and gone. Have you figured out the truth yet, struggler? When you traveled into the past, you created a timeline completely separate from your own. No matter what you do, your future will always remain the same. _Everything you've done has been for naught!"_

Nixon trembled with anger and attacked, throwing himself upon Hitler and wildly flailing the ancestral guitar of Washington. He roared with righteous fury, "You lying Nazi bastard! I refuse to believe that, not after all the shit I've gone through and the people I've sacrificed!"

Hitler caught Richard Nixon by the ankle and repeatedly slammed him face-first into the ground, mashing his face into a bloody pulp for his own amusement. Nixon growled, "You… you truffle butter slurping Niggachadnezzar! If what you say is really true, why would you even bother traveling into the past if you couldn't change the future? Is this some kind of sick fucking game to you?" Garfield begins bedazzling everyone's clothes without their permission.

"The reason is simple," Hitler cupped his chin in his hand and tossed Nixon into a nearby lake. "I already destroyed _everything_ in your future. A few years after you left, I succeeded in wiping out all life in existence. To put it simply, I grew bored. I traveled to your alternate timeline in the pursuit of being able to experience it again. As a secondary goal, I had also hoped to join forces with my past self after his resurrection. After all, obliterating the Americaverse and its people is quite a tasking job for one person, even with my godlike strength!" He elaborated.

Nixon retched in response, "You disgust me. You're even more depraved than you were in my time!" While Hitler was distracted, Karl Marx heaved himself to Honest Abe's side and helped to dress the president's gaping wounds.

"Hitler is every bit the monster he was all those years ago. I hate to say it, but not even the black magick of Mein Kampf can stop him now. Do you have any ideas, American?" He asked. Lincoln met Karl Marx's cold, distant gaze and sighed, "There's only one way we can defeat him, and I believe you already know what that is..."

"I'd rather die! If we did _that,_ we could never again turn back into our original selves. Even perishing by Adolf Hitler's hands would be more tolerable than being stuck with you for all of eternity!" Marx snarled. Lincoln grimly shook his head, "You know it's the only way to save your people, Marx. Deep down, we both knew that this day would eventually come. To defeat Hitler, _we're going to have to merge and become one yet again."_


	31. Enter Karl Lincoln

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: SEND ME A PRIVATE MESSAGE IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN "POZ LOADS." THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME AND ENJOY THE FANFICTION.**

"The very thought of merging with you makes me want to retch! If Adolf Hitler destroyed this world, at least I'd die with some dignity. If we were to fuse, you'd be as much Communist as you are American. We could never again revert to our original selves! I'd rather die than become a part of you again," Karl Marx slapped away Lincoln's outstretched arm, hardening his heart to the plight of his suffering people.

Adolf Hitler impaled hundreds of Communist civilians on the end of his fist, bathing the land with the blood of his godless carnage. Honest Abe shuddered, watching in terror as Hitler burned all of the innocents in his path to cinders and cackled with depraved glee as he trod upon their smouldering corpses.

Lincoln narrowed his gaze towards his other half, "You can't ignore your own people, Marx! Even you aren't that heartless. They're dying out there by the millions! I don't have much time left in this world. I'm fading away as we speak. Otherwise, I would have never suggested something as drastic as this. If we don't do something soon, the Americaverse is finished!" Adolf Hitler pinned Carrot Top to the ground and took a bite out of his skull. Lincoln cringed as he watched him proceed to devour the man's pasty flesh with a sadistic fervor, leaving only his bones behind.

"Do you even truly know why I despise your kind, Lincoln? Why the thought of joining with you repulses me so? Your people took _everything_ from me. My home, my son's sanity, my wife, and everyone I ever cared about. Do you really know what that kind of pain feels like, stars and stripes?" Karl Marx snarled, his words full of contempt.

Honest Abe bowed his head in shame, reminded of how his quest for vengeance against the Communist empire cost him his son and grandson. He lowered his head in sadness, "I… I think I do. All too well, in fact."

Marx's mind drifted far into his past, a time long before the grim days of the post-Ameripocalypse. "For many long years, I was experimented on by those deranged Americans, the Harlem Globetrotters. Unspeakable, inhumane things were performed upon me. It was a kind of torture I wouldn't even wish upon my worst enemy. One day, I fled. I lived on the outskirts of a major American citadel where the people dumped their corpses and filth from the war effort. I was ostracized from their city for being a Communist, driven to grovel and scavenge in their waste to survive."

Karl Marx was reminded of one of his earliest memories. He took refuge within a pit dug deep within the earth. The entranceway was covered, blocked by the toxic waste of the Americans' industry. The byproducts of their rampant capitalism. To him, this dwelling hole was his home.

"Their great monument to the gods, the Statue of Liberty, stood proud and tall over the wasteland where I dwelt. That idol loomed menacingly over the misfits of this land, seemingly judging the beings that society had discarded and abandoned. I had no name and no history. If I had perished in that fell place, no one would ever know. I was simply _nobody._ And then, I met her. My salvation. The only person who ever understood me..." A single hand reached down and into the blackness, drawing Karl Marx out from his hiding place.

"Her name was _Beyoncé._ She rescued me from that foul pit of despair that day. I was barely alive and deathly ill at the time. She gave me a name and the will to live again. I was no longer 'nobody.' Just to see her smile, I could endure anything!" Karl Marx was nursed back to health over the course of several lengthy moons. At first, he barely had the strength to stand, let alone walk. To him, it was almost like a dream. One moment he was languishing in a cesspit of filth, and the next he was delivered into the arms of salvation. For the only time in his existence, Karl Marx truly felt at peace.

"At first, she acted simply out of kindness. However, it soon turned into much more. Beyoncé and I fell in love, and we had a child together. His name was Adam Sandler, my pride and joy. Unfortunately, these days of peace and plenty didn't last. That's when everything changed…" Marx's family home was ransacked in the night, stripped of every valuable and burnt to cinders. Karl Marx fell to his knees and wept as he looked upwards, gazing upon a blood stained pitchfork with the severed head of his wife embedded upon its peak.

Lincoln was shocked, watching such a proud Communist warrior driven to tears as he recounted his story. He continued speaking through his tears, "The Americans killed my wife, Lincoln. Those bastards murdered Beyoncé simply because she was a Communist! A gang of scavengers came in the night, sodomizing her body and hacking her to pieces. Adam Sandler was never quite the same after that day. I suppose I wasn't, either. That's when it all began."

Without a moment of hesitation, Karl Marx took up his sword and charged into the night. He slew the first group of Americans he could find, savagely rending them to shreds and immolating their corpses. Deep down, Marx knew that they weren't the culprits behind Beyoncé's murder. But to him, it didn't matter. They were only the first of his many victims. That day, Karl Marx declared his personal war on all of American-kind.

"I fight to protect my people, Lincoln. I keep fighting and fighting to build a safer future for them. The Communists are the only family I have left. To protect your family, wouldn't you do anything?" Karl Marx took a deep breath and closed his eyes, unable to force himself to watch Adolf Hitler's massacre any longer. He clenched his fists and sighed in defeat, "And now, you're asking me to give up everything. Even if today is won, what will become of my race? Your people will destroy us, just like they did to _her._ They'll hunt us down and drive us to extinction. The Communist Empire will be eradicated overnight!"

"Hurry up, Mr. President! Even at full throttle, Adolf Hitler is too damn strong! This shit is not money!" Guy Fieri rasped, coughing up blood upon his golden goatee. Fieri utilized the full potential of his Flavortown fighting style, charging his signature "Dynamite Triple-D Incineration Cannon." Adolf Hitler pummeled Guy Fieri into the asphalt before he could finish his attack, dashing the Biker Brethren's last chance of victory against this godless foe.

Abraham Lincoln chuckled, cracking an optimistic grin, "You've got it all wrong, Marx. We're the mightiest warriors among our people, we both personify our respective races! If we joined together, we could make a better future for both the Communists and the Americans, a future free of this endless war we've fought for generations! We could finally have peace. But, that will never happen unless you take my hand and join me!"

The Communist lord tarried for a brief moment, pondering Lincoln's eloquent, enlightened words of patriotic fuckbrilliance. Marx pinched his brow, shakily reaching out his free hand and finally accepting Lincoln's offer. Lincoln respectfully bowed his head and reached into his jockstrap, removing a small vial containing the Americaverse's last existing drops of Fusion Dew™. He smiled, "Let's rock the fuck out, comrade."

Adolf Hitler plunged Richard Nixon in and out of a nearby lake, repeatedly attempting to drown him. Hitler cracked a sardonic grin as he tightened his grip on Tricky Dick's neck, allowing him to catch his breath before forcing him back into the water. "In all of my years, you're the only one who's ever escaped my wrath alive. Do you know what a blow to my pride that is, American wretch? I am the sin and the temptation, I am death made manifest! You'll pay for that shame with your life!" He grumbled.

The unholy führer ran his claws down Nixon's neck. He cooed with sadistic pleasure, preparing to cleave out his jugular vein with a swift, surgical strike. A chorus of angels cried out all across the Americaverse and the patriotic galaxies beyond, interrupting Hitler before he could slay Richard Nixon. Their righteous, supernal hymn grew in intensity and grace as the heavens above opened wide, bathing the world beneath in a dazzling light that shimmered with brilliant hues of red, white, and blue.

Adolf Hitler trembled in his boots, unable to shake the feeling of primal fear he felt as he gazed upon the faint figure standing in the eye of this angelic hellstorm. "Th-That power, it cannot be! You're just Abraham Lincoln, right?" Hitler questioned in a tremulous voice. He nervously backed away as the star-spangled warrior ambled towards him. Nobody wants to talk about Garfield's new vest.

"Abraham Lincoln?" The man questioned, seemingly unfamiliar with the name. He pursed his lips and chuckled, "Ah, I remember now. That was what they used to call me. But, to answer your question, no. I am no longer _just_ Honest Abe…"

The warrior smiled fearlessly, lifting his chin to stare directly at the Nazi Lord. "My name is _Karl Lincoln._ I am the ultimate fusion between Communist and American. Also, I'm the one who's going to fucking destroy you," He introduced himself and took a bow.

Hitler narrowed his eyes at the fused warrior standing before him and snarled, "You can merge with whomever you please, but no filthy mortal can do anything to stop me. Hit me with your best sho-" Honest Karl drew back his fist, punching Adolf Hitler thousands of miles into the distance and straight into the sun.

The fused warrior flexed his fist, admiring his strength. He chuckled, "So, you gonna fight me seriously now or what?"

Adolf Hitler clawed his way out of the sun's corona, barely alive. The Father of Lies traveled at faster than light speeds as he approached, plummeting through the planet's atmosphere and touching down directly in front of Karl Lincoln.

Massive, glowing cracks ran all along the Führer's pallid skin, signifying that his vessel had begun to crumble and lose its integrity. "I created this form solely for the purpose of containing my unutterable, immeasurable power. If I had remained in this state, you may have had a chance of killing me. But like a fool, you just broke the very thing that was holding me back…" He spoke ominously.

Lincoln crinkled his nose, "Shut up and fight me for real already, you fucking tosspot." Hitler tore away at his flesh, ripping his false body to shreds and unleashing his true form. His body began to tumefy and swell to a gargantuan size, emitting sparks of electricity that sent chunks of debris flying in all directions. As Hitler's body reached the peak of its metamorphosis, it suddenly began to cave inwards and shrink in stature.

Karl Lincoln seemed unperturbed, watching as the writhing mass of tentacles and limbs before him condensed to take a more manageable, bipedal shape. The reborn Adolf Hitler loomed over the battlefield, manifesting himself as a vast, vaguely humanoid black shape. His ichorous veins flared with a red aura, highlighting his newly formed cyclopean eye and dark, saurian flesh.

Karl Lincoln observed with a sly grin plastered on his face. He paced in circles around Hitler, "So, that's what you actually look like, eh? I'll give you credit for transforming yourself into a smaller target, there's no way you could dodge an attack in that awkward state you showed me before. But, there's one thing you didn't account for." Adolf Hitler raised an eyebrow in response, "And what would that be?"

 _"This."_ Lincoln unbuckled his belt and dropped his tattered blue jeans, revealing his throbbing, cybernetic gun-dick. No, it couldn't be called a gun-dick. It was far too massive, too rough and too thick. Its barrel was eighteen feet long, and its firepower had the destructive capability to level entire cities. Forsooth, this was no mere gun-dick. This was a _crotch-mounted cock cannon of flaming death!_

Hitler gulped, "S-Shit!" Karl Lincoln erected his middle finger to the heavens above, and with a thrust of his loins he unleashed a righteous salvo that utterly annihilated Adolf Hitler, strafing him deep into the earth. Lincoln's mighty foe quickly recovered, regenerating his damaged flesh and charging headfirst into the fray. Guy Fieri's new line of perfume is a huge hit.

Hitler pulverized Karl with an unutterably fast barrage of punches, putting him back on the defensive with his godlike Nazi fuckstrength. Lincoln's fist connected directly with Hitler's for a single millisecond, creating a shockwave that spread across time and space that prolapsed every anus in creation.

"Never before have I felt so alive! No foe has ever been strong enough to push me to this point! I… _I feel like going all out!"_ Hitler cackled with delight, pursuing behind Karl Lincoln as he moved into the planet's stratosphere. The Nazi lord grinned, concentrating his strength and pelting thousands of suns and lesser stars towards Honest Karl. Lincoln utilized the Communist-Slayer to do the same, batting countless celestial bodies towards Hitler while at the same time dodging his colossal attacks.

The Biker Brethren watched the heated duel unfold with bated breath. Anne Frank wiped the sweat from her brow, "I'm not sure which one's the bigger monster in this fight. They both have a power far beyond reckoning. At this point, they're both completely inhuman. If they're not careful, they could destroy the entire Americaverse in the process!"

Richard Nixon bowed his head, sharing the android's concern. "I hope you know what you're doing, Mr. President. You sacrificed everything that you were just to save our stars and stripes. Don't let us down! Don't let that goddamn Nazi ruin another timeline!" He said.

Garfield nervously turned to his allies, trembling in the wind. "Do you know what Adolf Hitler means, lads? In the ancient language of our forefathers, it translates to 'The Immortal Bringer of Death.' Hitler took that name for himself for a damn good reason. Hitler is Hitler because Americans can't beat him. So, what the fuck do you call an American who can beat Hitler?" He asked, greatly fearing the outcome of their fight.


	32. The End of Adolf Hitler

**DONALD TRUMP WILL MAKE SONIC THE HEDGEHOG GREAT AGAIN. VOTE TRUMP!**

Sonic stalked Richard Simmons from a distance, training his sniper rifle on his head and preparing to take the shot. RZA kicked the hedgehog in the stomach right as he pulled the trigger, throwing off his aim and causing his bullet to hit a tree instead. "Man, you can't just go 'round shooting your allies! The hell is wrong with you?" The Wu-Tang Clan's leader scolded.

Sonic rolled his eyes, "Come on, brother-man. I've got a hankerin' for some genocide. If I killed him in the woods, would anyone miss him? They'll just think he got killed by a wolf or some shit. A wolf with a shotgun."

"You're messed up, man. If you weren't high as fuck all the time, I'd hate to see what you'd be capable of," RZA swiped away Sonic's rifle and took him by the wrist, leading him back to their group's campsite.

For Sonic and his party, it had been five days since the beginning of the infamous "Newbie-Crushing Event." As per tradition, five hundred Communists were released from captivity and sent out into the wild to fend for themselves. The courageous members of the alliance were all split up into groups of six. Whichever team that slays the most Communists and recovers their corpses will receive the prestigious honor of leading the assault on the Marxist homeworld, an honor without equal amongst Americankind. Despite the protests of his mostly black allies, Sonic named his team "The Niggerslayers."

Ol' Dirty Bastard drug in another pile of hellhound corpses to be used as kindling for the campfire. "So, how many've these bastards have we killed so far, anyhow?" RZA questioned as he knelt down, taking a bite out of the hellbeast's charred hide as it roasted over the fire.

"Razzle-dazzle, party people! We've bagged fifty so far, and even better than that, we've worked up a sweat while doing it! I'd say we're close to being in the lead, my joy boys! Come on, let's sweat n' shout!" Richard Simmons cheered in his high pitched falsetto, celebrating this occasion with a spastic dancing routine. Method Woman soon joined him in his tribal dance of joy.

"...Just a little farther, Sonic. Come on, just kill him. Kill Richard Simmons. Just imagine how good it will feel. Give him a heap of raw iron!" The hedgehog cringed as he felt a familiar dark force emerge from the thickets behind him and creep up over his shoulder.

"Fuck right off, Hitler. What are you still doing in my brain, anyhow? Has god sent you here to piss me the fuck off or some shit? You're not real," Sonic grumbled. He exhaled deeply and smacked away the shapeless blob hovering over him.

A noisome laugh erupted from the lips of this crude manifestation of Adolf Hitler, "I am inside of you. We are two halves of the same coin, Sonic. I am the part of you that you desperately try to suppress. Your inner darkness, so to speak. _Your Communist side."_

Sonic unbuckled his jeans and swung his weaponized gun-cock in Hitler's direction. He growled, "Fuck off, ass. I have enough faggots to babysit already. I don't need this shit."

"You thirst for blood, Sonic. I am the true manifestation of what you really are. As you kill, you thirst more and more. The more blood you're drenched in, the more you thirst. It wouldn't take much to make you just like me, just like _Hitler…"_ Sonic shakily unsheathed his axe-guitar, "Fuck off. I ain't gonna' say this twice!" The darkness crept up and enveloped Sonic, shrouding him in a black haze that obscured his sight.

He laughed and continued, "Keep fighting, keep killing. I will soon consume you and take your place. You will come to feel nothing but hate, and derive joy from nothing but death. It wouldn't take much to make you snap and become just like me. Abraham Lincoln saw it, that's why he took you under his wing. What would it take to break your fragile mind? The death of a loved one? No, you've been through plenty of that. How about _all_ of your loved ones?"

Sonic went into a raging fuckfrenzy, ferociously swinging his guitar in all directions and slicing Hitler to pieces. _"FUCK OFF!"_ He shouted.

The manifestation of Adolf Hitler snickered as he faded away, "I hope you're prepared, Sonic. Very soon, you're about to lose all that is dear to you. If you aren't careful, you'll lose yourself on this dark path you walk. You'll become a monster in the form of a man, the thing you've always been destined to be. Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Führer!"

Sonic sat down on his team's pile of Commie corpses and pinched his brow. He groaned, "I wonder what rail-splitter is doing right about now? Whatever it is, it can't be any worse than this shit."

"Even after going to the trouble of fusing, Lincoln is still only evenly matched with Hitler. Things aren't looking good…" Anne Frank fretted as she stood alongside the remaining members of the Biker Brethren, watching their heated duel from the planet below. Karl Lincoln and Adolf Hitler's fists clashed together thousands of times in under a single millisecond, destroying every heavenly body in their path right down to the last atom. Hitler grabbed Karl's face with his reptilian claws and hurled him into the distance, sending him flying directly through a planet's core.

While Lincoln was dazed, Adolf Hitler took the opportunity to charge a maelstrom of energy beams in his fists, each containing the power to wipe out an entire solar system. "All living things must _PERISH!"_ He howled as he made his move. Karl Lincoln deflected all of the energy spheres thrown at him with ease and chuckled, "Not as long as I'm here, you Nazi fucker!"

Hitler soared across space and time at unimaginable speeds as he charged towards Lincoln. He drew back his blood soaked fist, savagely pulverizing him through an asteroid belt. "He's good. _Too_ good, as a matter of fact. If I'm going to beat him, I'll have to be willing to give my life!" Lincoln thought to himself as he wiped the blood from his lip.

Lincoln flattened a sun using his hands, compressing this flaming star into the shape of disc and using it as a shuriken against Hitler. The godless Führer leapt out of the way at the last possible second, barely managing to evade the attack. He stood aghast, finding that all of his hair and his signature mustache had been burnt to a crisp.

"Are you taking me seriously now, rail-splitter?" Hitler darted towards Honest Karl at an impossibly fast speed, slugging him with a godlike power that instantly blew off every foreskin in the galaxy. After regaining his footing, Lincoln used a storm of asteroids as cover to sneak behind him. He attacked the Führer with a fuckfurious maelstrom of punches and roundhouse kicks, putting Hitler back on the defensive with his ferocious attacks.

The heavenly president pummeled Hitler into a barren planet, beating him face-first into an impact crater that stretched on for thousands of miles in length. Lincoln howled into the night with a seraphic battlecry, welling up with a sense of astral fuckfury he had never felt before.

"Fuck you, I'm Karl Lincoln! I'm not gonna say any showy shit like 'god bless America' or anything like that. I'm just going to mirk your ass, right here and now!" Karl Lincoln roared. He transformed his right arm into a grizzly bear paw, a swarthy appendage surrounded with the imperishable flames of George Washington's grace.

Lincoln charged forth with a speed far beyond reckoning and swung his hefty claws, decapitating Adolf Hitler's head with one heavenly swipe. "I see. So, the gloves have finally come off. I've been biding my time, waiting for this moment!" Hitler's putrid, guttural laughter echoed from the oozing cavity in his torso. Adolf Hitler's appearance on Sesame Street turns out to be a huge disaster.

"My own strength doesn't even begin to compare to yours! I'm impressed. However, you still haven't the faintest idea of how to control the godlike power at your command. Suffice to say…" Lincoln's nipples tensed with primal fear as Hitler slowly approached. "There's no chance in hell that you could beat me. No chance at all!" He laughed.

The decapitated Nazi warlord drew back his index finger, shattering the bones in both of Karl Lincoln's arms like twigs with naught but a single flick. "Lincoln, _NO!"_ Richard Nixon cried out in horror, struggling to watch as Adolf Hitler socked Lincoln in the gut with a flurry of frenzied punches, each containing the power to wipe out several galaxies.

Hitler cackled with a sardonic grin as he swiped back his head and used pyrokinesis to melt it to the bloody stump atop his neck. "Good as new. I can fight eternally, American scum. If you were part of the glorious Aryan master race, maybe you could have had a chance of beating me. Maybe you could have prevented me from doing _THIS!"_ He roared at the top of his lungs.

Adolf Hitler channeled the full force of his godless Nazi fuckery, and his body became showered in a sepulchral aura that sent shockwaves across the entire Americaverse, bathing the mortal land beneath in an unholy corpselight. He cracked a sly grin, "I'm finished with this repulsive world of American trash! I'll just destroy this universe now and travel further back in time to start my carnage anew. Before you die, I'll show you the most powerful attack in my arsenal, an unrivaled weapon of death and destruction with the power to wipe out reality itself!"

Karl Lincoln desperately struggled to move and counter Hitler's final measure, but his badly ravaged body refused to listen to his commands, "F-Fuck! There's no way I can stop him in this state! The Americaverse… nay, existence itself is finished! Damn it all!"

Hitler contorted his putrefying lips into a smug grin as he beheld the look of true, unadulterated terror in Honest Karl's eyes as he uttered the name of his ultimate attack. "Finishing move: 「 **THE FINAL SOLUTION** 」!"

Karl Lincoln was instantly wiped out in the initial explosion, his body disintegrated down to the very last building blocks of life. The Biker Brethren watched in abject horror as the stars that once lit the sky dimmed, fading away into the infinite blackness. Richard Nixon fell to his knees and wept, overcome with defeat, "So, this is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but rather, with Communism. Truly, _the end of days has arrived."_

Garfield took Anne Frank's trembling hands into his own, meeting her terrified gaze with an unexpectedly warm smile. "There's something I need to get off of my chest, lass. Something I should have told you long ago, but never had the guts to say. I guess the end of the world is as good of a time as any, right?" He laughed.

Garfield gulped, "I… I'm in love with you, Anne Frank. I'd trade all the lasagna in the world just to be with you. I'd kick Odie off of a thousand tables just to hold you in my arms. I love you more than all of the Futa girls in the world combined. Do… do you feel the same way, my heartsweet?"

"I'm sorry, Garfield." Anne Frank bowed her head and apologized in a flat tone of voice, "I don't lay with beasts. Unless it's a wolf. I'd probably have sex with a wolf, provided it gave consent." Garfield lowered his gaze and awkwardly backed away, "Oh… I see."

The days of the Americaverse closed in and the tranquil skies blackened. The cosmic hellfire spread over the galaxy like a sheet, reducing the Biker Brethren and their allies into dust and casting them into the infinite void. Life itself silently expired in a single instant, and the universe drifted off into the nothingness without so much as a single spec of life left behind. _America is dead, and Communism killed it._

Karl Lincoln drifted through the void, dreamless. Farther and farther from the warm of light of existence he drifted, deeper into the dark. _"Where… where is this? Where's my body? I'm slipping. What is this place?"_

Lincoln shuddered, feeling all of the deaths of his comrades pierce through his heart and fill his mind. The disembodied screams of the Biker Brethren rang in his ears, gnawing away at his soul, _"I remember now. They're all gone because of me. They trusted me, and I failed them all. I was their last hope, and I allowed them to die. I'm slipping away..."_

Karl's disembodied eyes widened as he beheld a faint light staring at him from the bottom of the pit. _"I'm not alone. Something is here with me. What is this feeling? It's familiar, as if I've been here before. But, that can't be. Unless..."_ Lincoln gasped for air, _"G-God?"_

"Welcome, my child. I am _George Washington._ I have waited long for your arrival, chosen one," The voice called to him. Lincoln fell upon his face, prostrating before this ancient deity of patriotic righteousness. Washington knelt down and lifted Lincoln's chin with his delicate fingers, gesturing for him to rise.

Karl Lincoln peered into Washington's golden eyes, and for that brief instance where their gaze met, he felt as if the truth of time, space, and existence itself became perfectly clear in his mind. "...Y-You are God! It's true!" He gasped.

George Washington's creamy skin shimmered in the light of the sun with the glow of a seraph, glistening with an impossible beauty of which could never be found in the world of men. Lincoln trembled as he gazed upon his creator's unearthly majesty, his eyes fixated upon the hypnotic swaying of his silver mane of hair. Clearly, George Washington was much more than a mere man. He smiled peacefully, "Walk with me, Lincoln. We have much to discuss."

Washington and Lincoln strode through the courtyard of the White House, walking silently through this lush and fecund garden of life. "This is the birthplace of patriotism, my child. This place represents the desires of all Americans, a common desire that transcends individuality. The hopes and dreams of all patriots gather and swell in this plane, this representation of the true American dream. This world is familiar to all of your kind, for it dwells within the hearts of every American," He explained.

Even with Lincoln's divine understanding of the greater universe and patriotic lore, he found himself completely puzzled by Washington's grandiose words. Karl Lincoln cracked a forced smile, "This place is beautiful, just as the tales described it as. But, how will this information help me save my race? Er, races. Forgive me, I'm still pretty new to this."

Washington playfully ruffled Lincoln's hair. He smiled with a warmth that instantly melted down the defenses of this battle hardened warlord and began to speak, "This dimension is patriotism made manifest, just as I am. The patriotic will of Americankind is the force that drives me, for it is what gives me shape. The essence of patriotism is one of the forces that ties reality itself together, just as it does this place. It is a power that existed long before even I. Americans believe that I am the force that created patriotism, but that belief is incorrect. Your patriotism is what created me."

Honest Karl's knees trembled as he hearkened upon his words of otherwordly fuckmajesty, "Y-You mean, Americans are the ones who created you? You're not actually a god, George Washington-sama?"

The original president bowed his head to confirm what he had said, "I am a being who possesses such abilities, but I did not create the Americaverse. Forces much older and greater than I exist beyond the veil, sculpting this eternal 'cycle of time' as they see fit. However, I do control fate. Obeying the wishes and dreams of Americankind, I weave their collective destiny."

"Your role was decided long before time had a name, chosen one. Every moment of your life has been carefully crafted so that you would come to stand where you are now. You will not save the Americaverse, but your courage and sacrifice will give rise to the one that will…" He explained. Karl Lincoln raised his chin to stare at the clouds, eyeing a faint silhouette forming in the maw of the heavens.

He reeled back in shock, "S-Sonic the Hedgehog? No, Richard Nixon? The shape is still unclear, I can't make it out. But, what is my purpose in this divine scheme? If you are truly patriotism taken shape, why would you have me become half-Communist? Am I not the antithesis of what your people believe in?"

"As I said, this world is patriotism made manifest. That's exactly why it's dying," George Washington knelt down, plucking a single rose from the garden and handing it to his guest. Karl Lincoln watched as the flower instantly crumbled and wilted in his hands, turning to dust in the harsh wind. Nobody wants to talk about Garfield's new buttplug.

"...A world cannot be sustained by one force alone, Lincoln. It takes an equilibrium of both Patriotism _and_ Communism for life to truly thrive. Pure Patriotism breeds only greed and a lust for more power. The group you know as the Harlem Globetrotters succumbed to this long ago. You also once succumbed to this, Lincoln. Pure Communism breeds only a desire for hate and vengeance, just as what Karl Marx once felt. That's why you and only you are worthy enough to replace me, my child," Washington explained.

"R-Replace you? Surely, you jest. I am but a mere mortal! I could _never-"_ Honest Karl awkwardly stuttered, completely taken aback by his earnest offer. George Washington smiled, revealing his glistening dentures that shone bright with an ethereal glow of red, white, and blue, "It has been your destiny for time immemorial, Lincoln. You are the perfect blend of the two conflicting forces that dictate the laws of reality itself! You now wield both the light and the dark, Capitalism and Communism. Only you can usher in this new era and lead the Americans and Marxists to their destiny."

George Washington keeled over in pain, clutching his chest, "My time is nearing its end, child of the stars. My power has been fading away for some time now. Soon, the Americaverse will have to get by without my guidance. It's up to you now, Karl Lincoln. When you leave this world, you shall finally take up your rightful place in the oval office and succeed in protecting this glorious country where I have failed. Put aside your doubts, Lincoln. You are a child of Washington! You will be ready when the time comes."

Lincoln knelt down and helped the American Fabius to his feet. "What would you have me do, my holy president? Reality itself has been destroyed. In the face of Adolf Hitler, I'm powerless. I was a fool to believe I had the strength to destroy him. I'm sorry, but you were wrong about me. I'm not fit to be the future god of the Americaverse," He spoke in a grim tone of voice.

"Do what you believe is right, chosen one. You are the personification of America as it realistically should be. You are the only one who can bring peace to both races. Your desire is my desire, as well as the desire of all beings that dwell in the light. I only have one commandment for thee: _rocketh the fuck out!"_ Lincoln respectfully lowered his head, coming to fully understand Washington's beautiful words and furious head thrashing. "In that case, I need a form suitable for this task. Bestow upon me the strength to save America!" He asked.

* * *

 _The year is 2004, fifteen generations after the beginning of the Ameripocalypse. The Americaverse has become an empty void incapable of supporting life. Every American and Communist has been brutally slain by Adolf Hitler, and no living things remain._

 _"I'm slipping away…"_ Lincoln's disembodied voice rasped, growing fainter with each passing centon. Darkness enveloped him from all angles as thousands of tiny black hands reached out from the abyss, dragging him farther down.

 _"I'm gone…"_

 _"..."_

 _ **"FUCK THAT SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"**_

Karl Lincoln cried out with righteous indignation, reaching out his meaty fists and forcibly tearing open the barriers of reality itself. Tears of star-spangled fuckgrace showered his cheeks as he throttled the neck of the universe itself like a mighty pimp, rewriting history and turning back time. "So, this is the power of George Washington? I could get used to this!" He thought to himself as he displayed his godly abilities.

"NO! This cannot be, I refuse to believe it! Everything was supposed to be eradicated! _Why is it coming back?!"_ Adolf Hitler trembled with rage, watching as the planets and great star clusters of the patriotverse emerged from the blackness to once again light up the cosmos. Guy Fieri clutched his chest and gasped for air, "We're… we're still alive? Shut the front door, I've been stricken by the chicken!"

Karl Lincoln unleashed the full power of his godlike potential unlocked by George Washington. An electric, star-spangled aura wreathed his transcendental vessel as it rose in stature, expanding to become the size of the entire Americaverse itself. Several lesser galaxies congregated towards this monolithic patriot, wrapping themselves around his skin and forming an unbreakable set of cosmic armor upon him. Adolf Hitler was shaken to his core at the sight, beholding Lincoln's transformed body that stretched on for billions upon billions of lightyears, utterly dwarfing him.

The appearance taken by Super Lincoln's immeasurably vast form was instantly recognizable to all children of the mighty George Washington, right down to the stripe patterned hat upon his head and set of twenty-eight arms extending from his abdomen. All of the Americans on the battlefield fell upon their faces in reverence of this patriotic demigod, "...Uncle Sam-sama! He's become Uncle Sam, the ultimate American warlord!"

Great streams of light erupted forth from Lincoln's extragalactic loins, soaring through the stars and raining down from the heavens to bathe the members of the Biker Brethren with their Americanesque fuckgrace. Garfield flexed his throbbing muscles, standing in awe of the godlike, all-American power coursing through his veins. He gasped, "This strength is enormous! I've never felt anything like this before. Abe Lincoln has filled all of my holes with his liquid love! Is… is this the true potential of the American race?"

After being endowed by Honest Karl's godlike puissance, the space bikers soared through the stars to join their president in his final struggle against Adolf Hitler. "Arise warriors of Washington! Let's do the old 'you-know-what' and finish this bastard!" Super Lincoln's righteous belly laughing echoed throughout the multiverse, striking terror into the hearts of the sodomous foes of his patriotic galaxy.

"What?" The members of the Biker Brethren all questioned in unison. Lincoln smiled, "What else? We're going to **_ROCK THE FUCK OUT_** _!"_

"How amusing. It seems I underestimated your stubborn will to survive! However, the outcome still remains the same. I'm going to turn you filthy Americans into soap!" Adolf Hitler threw himself upon his patriotic adversaries, baying at the moon and unleashing his true strength. This holy union of Super Americans took position around Honest Karl, using themselves as living shields to fend off Hitler's desperate attack.

Karl Lincoln reached down and lifted up the legendary Communist-Slayer. He channeled his hormonal hellrage into this flaming blade, filling it to the brim with his awe inspiring strength and causing it to expand to appropriately match his own size.

Lincoln fearlessly swung this blade and pointed it directly at Hitler's face. He smirked confidently, "I'm going to tell you something important right now, so you best shut the fuck up and listen! We children of the almighty Washington are totally unmatched by anyone of this universe! Even when we die, our patriotism never fades! The hopes and dreams of our star-spangled allies shall fuel us on our journey into the light! You're the one who doesn't stand a chance!"

Super Nixon fearlessly charged forward and socked Hitler in the jaw, "He's right! All fifty stars and thirteen stripes of our beautiful flag burn inside of us like a mighty flame! Even at the brink of death, our righteous niggerfury will never cease! Not even a Nazi can take our patriotism away from us!" Super Guy Fieri joined him and stealthily approached from behind, putting the Führer into a full nelson.

"The hopes, dreams, and sacrifices of those who came before us and those who shall come after us are etched into our souls, kindling inside of our bodies like the mighty bonfires of Flavortown! You're jealous of our unbreakable strength and resolve, so you lash out in fear by trying to wipe out every American you can! That's your weakness!" Fieri held Hitler in place, allowing Super Bert to beat his face inwards with his flaming Muppet fists. He cried out with tears in his eyes, "This is for you, Ernie! Now you can rest in peace, my love!"

"...I'm not finished with you! _NOT YET!"_ Hitler shook off his assailants with a powerful kiai shout, sending them both flying into the depths of space. The Nazi hellbeast gritted his teeth, charging and firing off a consecutive volley of twenty universe-destroying 'Final Solution' attacks. Honest Karl stepped in to intervene, effortlessly crushing all of these planet-sized blasts between his fingertips.

Super Anne Frank drop kicked Adolf Hitler, sending him flying helplessly towards the horizon of a gravitational singularity. "The hour has come where we shall stand together as one and rage against the light, driving the sword of war straight into the bowels of hell itself in the name of Washington! You may not know it yet, but you're already dead! For you, Adolf Hitler, there's only one thing we have left to say…" She began.

The fearless Americans stood as one, pooling their star-spangled energy together for one final attack. The members of the Biker Brethren roared into the starless night with one final, throaty war cry, **_"GOD BLESS AMERICA!"_**

The bikers summoned the godlike powers of George Washington, the Communist-Slayer, and the entire omniverse into their fingertips for this final assault. Righteous tears streamed endlessly down their collective faces as they fired off a star-spangled orb of pure, patriotic energy that spanned an unutterably gargantuan fifteen-quintillion lightyears in diameter. _**It was metal as fuck.**_

Hitler's knees buckled and cracked as he outstretched his hands and caught this mass of energy, shocking the Biker Brethren with the strength still left at his command. The Führer gritted his teeth so hard that they shattered into millions of microscopic pieces, reduced to dust inside of his mouth.

Hitler mustered up all of his Nazi will and moved his legs forward, slowly pushing the Americans' own last resort back at them. He smirked, "You struggle in vain, American filth! Even if I die, the Americaverse is doomed to repeat its mistakes! Patriotism always fails, and there shall always be another Adolf Hitler to take my place! This is the true nature of the cycle of time! Communism shall _NEVER_ lose!"

"That's where you're wrong, you Nazi FUCK!" Tricky Dick broke free from the group, dashing at the speed of light towards Adolf Hitler. Karl Lincoln silently bowed his head in respect and tossed Nixon the galaxy-sized Communist-Slayer to defend himself with. Hundreds of black tentacles sprouted from Hitler's body and darted towards Nixon, lacerating his skin and rending his armor to shreds.

Richard Nixon cried out in agony as one of the slimy appendages darted directly through his stomach, piercing his lungs and impaling him upon its barbed tip. Nixon wiped the blood from his chin and stared directly into Hitler's eyes, undaunted and unflinching. A look of smug satisfaction spread across the American's blood stained lips as he lifted his head, "...That's exactly what I was waiting for!"

Richard Nixon effortlessly swung his massive electric guitar and sliced Hitler in two along his waist, sending his body parts flying. The gravely wounded Nazi's eyes widened with shock, "You… you allowed yourself to be impaled in order to attack me? Of all the myriad creatures I've faced, I've enjoyed our fights the most. Ha… I applaud you, Richard of the clan Nixon. Perhaps your kind isn't as worthless as I first thought..."

Unable to muster the strength to prevent its impact, Hitler's battered body was swallowed by the massive sphere of energy conjured by the Biker Brethren. "I… I don't want to go back there! I don't want to be bound in that pit again for all eternity! This can't be the end! What did I do wrong? All I ever wanted was a world without Jews. Was… was it too much to ask for such a thing? No, that's not even it. What was it that drove me to be this way? Hatred? Fear? Revenge? Tell me, god!"

Hitler reached out his half incinerated hands, desperately reaching for the light that he was slowly drifting away from. "Tell me now, Washington! _TELL ME!_ I was doing the Americaverse a favor. The lesser species deserved death! I am the pinnacle of their evolution, the pinnacle of the Aryan master race! Why do they deserve to live and not me?!" Hitler blustered.

Hitler trembled with rage as he hearkened upon George Washington's faint laughter echoing from the bottom of the pit with thousands of smaller voices that mocked and scorned him. Washington spoke in a calm, assured voice, "You were the inferior one, Hitler. You may have held the strength of the gods in your fingertips, but never did you reach even half their level. Patriotism is the power of evolution and change. When tempered by an equal amount of Communism, there is nothing mortal men cannot achieve. You were envious, Hitler. All you could do was destroy and never create. That's why you'll never be as good as them. _You weren't worthy to take my place."_

 _"I'm… I'm afraid…"_ For once in his miserable existence, Adolf Hitler felt an emotion completely unknown to him: fear. The Biker Brethren watched as their final attack swallowed Adolf Hitler and erupted in a glorious, astral fuckflare that could be seen across countless galaxies. At long last, Hitler had finally been destroyed.

The Biker Brethren's joyous celebration was cut short as Richard Nixon keeled over, gagging on his own blood. He faded in and out of consciousness as he removed his hands from the gaping hole in his torso, eyeing the flow of blood streaming down his leather jacket and blue jeans. Tricky Dick managed a tremulous smile, _"Garfield… this is what you wanted, right? This is my promise I made to you..."_

"Only if you have been in the deepest valley can you ever know how magnificent it is to be on the highest mountain. So long, you glorious motherfuckers..." Richard Nixon outstretched his arms and fell into the depths of space beneath, swept away into the infinite majesty of the cosmos.

Lincoln flicked away the tears forming in his eyes, holding his chin high and joining the Biker Brethren as they saluted their fallen comrade for one, final time. Lincoln nodded his head, "Sayonara, Richard Nixon. Truly, you were the defender of America."

* * *

 _The year is 2004, shortly after the end of the Ameripocalypse. The Communist race has been defeated, and the children of George Washington can yet again thrive as in the days of old. The Americans, Communists, and all other just races of the Americaverse have formed a new alliance, bringing in a new era of peace._

 _Together, the men and women of the patriotverse ushered in a new age of prosperity and heavy metal. Soon, the story of the mighty Biker Brethren became the stuff of legend. Songs were sung in their honor, and great tales were told of their heroic feats for generations to come._

 _Even though the Communist Manifesto had fallen, an even darker force was rising in power, lurking in the shadows and gathering together its armies to wage war on the free people of the patriotic galaxies. The story of the Biker Brethren had ended, but the true battle for the Americaverse had only just started._

 _The story of the "Communist-Hunter" is about to begin..._


	33. Extra: Americaverse Timeline

**SAY IT LOUD FOR ALL TO HEAR: WHITE PRIDE, WORLDWIDE!**

* * *

 **SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA TIMELINE**

* * *

\- The Americaverse is created by several spirits of unknown origins, ancient entities that have existed long before time had a name.

\- George Washington, a pure manifestation of patriotic energy, emerges from the void. He decides to take the role of a guardian towards the beings that populate the creation of his progenitors. He also creates the Founding Fathers, seven lesser spirits destined to rule over the realm.

\- Emulating their father, the Founding Fathers begin to create races of their own. Biggie Smalls creates Wu-Tang Prime and its inhabitants, and Benjamin Franklin creates the Russians.

\- Thousands of years of peace transpire. Overcome by greed and a lust for power, John Adams founds "The Harlem Globetrotters", an organization made with the goal of creating the ultimate American warrior.

\- Richard Nixon arrives in the past. He becomes close friends with a young Abraham Lincoln and Tupac Shakur.

\- Garfield boldly proclaims that traps aren't gay. He couldn't have been more wrong.

\- John Adams is the first to undergo the Patriotic Fission, creating Adolf Hitler as a result. Hitler then creates the Communist people and begins his campaign to slay the other Founding Fathers for unrivaled rule of the patriotverse.

\- Tensions die down, and the Communist people live in peace with the Americans for a few short decades. Driven to continue their experiments, the Globetrotters ignite a war between the two factions in order to further their twisted goals.

\- Charles Barkley is born. The events of Space Jam transpire, erupting in a war that nearly destroys the galaxy.

\- Under Hitler's rule, the Communist Wars begin. Tupac Shakur and his son, Abraham Lincoln, spearhead the American resistance against Hitler's armies. After the death of Madoka Kaname, Michael Jordan leaves the war effort to focus on raising his son.

\- Nixon forms an alliance with Colonel Sanders and finally admits the truth of his mission. Sanders agrees to help prevent the rebirth of Hitler when the time arrives in one thousand years.

\- Honest Abe and hundreds of other Americans submit themselves to the experimentation of the Globetrotters in order to help their country. A perfected version of the Patriotic Fission is performed upon Lincoln, raising his strength to godlike levels. The negative result of the ritual, Karl Marx, is contained for a short time, but manages to escape.

\- A Communist android, Anne Frank, is captured by Garfield and reprogrammed to fight for the American cause.

\- Tupac Shakur kills Adolf Hitler in a duel, but perishes from his injuries shortly afterwards. After the brutal death of his wife, Karl Marx emerges from hiding and becomes the new emperor of the Communist Manifesto.

\- Several Americans are captured by the enemy and experimented upon. Still lamenting the loss of his son's sanity, Karl Marx transforms five innocent patriots into his 'children', brainwashed Americans who work solely for the Communist armies as assassins and elite warriors.

\- The war continues for several generations more, with the American people now on the losing side.

\- The Communist armies defeat the American armies, beginning the Ameripocalypse.

\- Wu-Tang Prime is overrun by the Juggalo Armies. Due to the collapse of the American government, the Wu-Tang people are unable to call for aid and lose their war. RZA and a small band of survivors flee from their besieged homeworld, embarking on a quest to gather the strength and funds necessary to liberate their enslaved race.

\- Billions of Americans are slaughtered during Karl Marx's annihilation campaign. Lincoln goes into hiding, working to build the Biker Brethren to reclaim the Americaverse.

\- Abe Lincoln sets out to find the Communist-Slayer, an artifact stolen by Leon Trotsky during the wars.

\- After slaying his Communist father, a young lad named Sonic the Hedgehog travels the land, vowing to slay every Marxist soldier in his path simply to assuage his raging bloodlust. Also, because genocide turns him on.

* * *

 **SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA TIMELINE (MIRAI NIXON'S FUTURE)**

* * *

\- The Americans finally defeat the Communist Empire. Unlike the Prime Timeline, Abraham Lincoln never merges with Karl Marx. Instead, Marx is slain along with the rest of his subordinates.

\- Mercenary Winnie the Pooh, Charles Barkley, and Michael Jordan all survive the wars. Without Nixon's warning from the future to unite them, the Last Alliance of True American Heroes disbanded hundreds of years prior.

\- Sonic the Hedgehog never leaves the Biker Brethren. Instead, he stays behind to start a family with Anne Frank.

\- Adolf Hitler is brought back to the world of the living by an unknown force. With their forces crippled after the assault on Wolfsschanze, the Americans are powerless to stop his carnage.

\- Charles Barkley and Michael Jordan give their lives to help their friends escape. Abraham Lincoln fights back, but is tragically slain after the Nazi lord reveals his true strength.

\- The American forces are utterly decimated, driving their species to near extinction. Garfield, Anne Frank, and Winnie the Pooh are the only survivors.

\- Anne Frank is driven insane by the atrocities she had witnessed. Garfield cares for her for many months afterwards, but is unable to help as she perishes during childbirth.

\- Garfield decides to raise Sonic the Hedgehog's son as his own. He names him "Richard Nixon", an ancient American name roughly translating to "Dick Slayer."

\- Richard Nixon is trained in the ancient ways of the Americans by his adoptive father, preparing for his eventual confrontation with Adolf Hitler before he even learned to walk. Little did he know, he would eventually fulfill his role and save the Americaverse.

\- The events of Chapter 14 occur.

* * *

 **Next time: The Beginning of the Final Arc —** ** _"Invocation of the McDemons"_**


	34. Lamentation of Richard Simmons

**REQUESTING DRAMATIC READINGS FOR ALL OF MY FANFICTION. BUT ONLY FROM MY FAVORITE ANIME SEIYUU "GUY FIERI."**

"Forgive us, my master. The plan… _it was a complete failure._ Donald Trump was killed, and Adolf Hitler was slain in battle. And worse yet, the Communist homeworld still remains intact. We are prepared to accept any punishment you deem fit!" Dr. Mengele fell upon his face, prostrating before a holographic representation of the Harlem Globetrotters' leader: a shadowy figure known only as _The Benefactor._

Dr. Mengele lustfully smiled as he turned to his swart skinned companion. "Don't worry, my beautiful masterpiece. I won't let them lay a finger upon you..." Charles Darkley recoiled as Mengele licked his cheek, showcasing the depraved obsession he had with his genetically modified creation.

"Rise, my children. This was all within the realm of causality and the cycle of time. As a matter of fact, we had anticipated that this would happen. It matters not," The Benefactor raised his index finger, gesturing for Darkley and his master to stand.

Mengele was rendered speechless, "Forgive me for my ignorance, but how does it _not_ matter? Our plan from the beginning was to use Adolf Hitler as a tool to usher in a new, final Ameripocalypse and wipe this galaxy clean of life. In addition, we can't make another, as the American who bore his genetic material has just perished…"

The Benefactor chuckled, "Have a little more faith, child. Originally, we believed the one called _Richard Nixon_ was key to the process of resurrecting Hitler, as he contained a small amount of his DNA inside of him. Your original hypothesis for this phenomenon was that he merged with Adolf Hitler on a cellular level from traveling through the same time stream, correct?" Garfield's collection of big breasted anime figurines work hard to protect his virginity.

Dr. Mengele bowed his head, confirming his statement, "Of course. Until the second Adolf Hitler came along from the future and convinced us to rework our plans, we had originally decided to use Nixon as the genetic template to resurrect him. But, I'm afraid both options have been rendered impossible." Charles Barkley raised an eyebrow as he listened, struggling to make any sense out of their words.

"Such little imagination for a mind so brilliant. I believe your original theory was incorrect, my servant. The recent scans from our field agents have shown us that his father, Sonic the Hedgehog, has that same DNA inside of him. Not just fragments, either. He's a 100% match to Hitler's genetic makeup, all contained in the body of an American. Do you know what that means, Josef?" He asked.

Dr. Mengele stood aghast, "Surely, you can't possibly mean...! A perfect match to Hitler only means one thing: a _Patriotic Reincarnation._ But, that's just a myth!"

The prophecy that Tupac Shakur uttered on his deathbed was known well by all of Americankind: "Adolf Hitler shall one day return to the world of the living, reborn in the body of an American child. This lad will hold the fate of the patriotverse in his hands, and he will have the potential to either become the greatest American who has ever lived, or an incarnation of the Führer infinitely more powerful than his original form. This event shall forever be known as the _Patriotic Reincarnation."_

Due to the grievous head injury he sustained during his fight with Adolf, many Americans were quick to write off his warnings as the ramblings of a mentally ill man who was nearing death. However, many Americans still believed his arcane words for thousands of generations to come, along with the legend that Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls merely faked their deaths.

Charles Darkley felt a flood of emotions come over him as he heard the name of his adoptive father. He clenched his fists and trembled with anger, "Sonic the Hedgehog… that name still haunts me. Even now, I still can't escape those putrid memories. They echo inside of my mind with every waking moment. I'm not the same man I was then! That past life has no power over me. But, why do I still feel this crippling weakness?"

"He is the key for bringing about the new age of the Americaverse that we've dreamt of. _Sonic the Hedgehog is the reincarnation of Adolf Hitler!_ Now, our only job is to ensure that he fulfills his destiny and fully embraces his Communist side," He explained. The Benefactor then rose from his obsidian throne and directed his gaze towards Charles Darkley, "It's time for you to prove your loyalty to us, child. Fulfill the purpose you were created for: hunt the American down and deliver him to us."

"Shut up, Hitler. Goddamn, how many times am I gonna have to tell you? I'm not going to chop Richard Simmons's head off with my dick, even though I really want to. Can you just fuck off already?" Sonic growled, raising his hand and swatting away the manifestation of Hitler that hovered around him. He flailed his axe-guitar as he charged into battle against the Communist menace, savagely rending all of his foes to shreds.

Richard Simmons frothed from the mouth as he trailed behind, breaking out into a spastic tribal dance as he ran. He swung his perfectly toned legs and cooed with pleasure as he slew the Commies with the power of aerobics and homoeroticism, "Get ready to party, my joy boys! Warm that body up and give me some lovin'! It's sweatin' time!"

Ghostface Killah let out a throaty battle cry as he led his zombified forces into battle. He swung his flesh choked scythe across the battlefield, simultaneously lopping off the heads of hundreds of Marxist soldiers while laughing, "Sayonara, my combatants! You were all worthy opponents. In the next life, I hope to get the opportunity to murderize the fuck out of you again!"

"Gloryhound…" Ol' Dirty Bastard grumbled under his breath, clearly irritated by his younger brother's needlessly showy attacks and theatrics. Ghostface chuckled, "Words are the weapons of women and Jews, brother! Bloodshed is what we of the Wu-Tang race live for. Join me on the field of battle and learn what true glory and courage really feel like!"

RZA remained still and unflinching as he fearlessly stared down the Communist hordes. "Dude, why the hell are you smoking that dank kush at a time like this?" Sonic questioned, watching as his partner of Wu-Tang fuckferocity inserted a joint between his chapped lips. RZA grinded his knuckledusters together and smiled, "You've got it all wrong, brother. This is my _fighting weed!_ I can't slay Cultural Marxist scum unless I'm high!"

"F-Faygo…" RZA murmured under his breath, stopping dead in his tracks. He watched in shock as the leader of the Communist host parted his badly scarred maw and forced a jug of this orange, acidic liquid down his throat. RZA clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails dug deeply into his palms, sending blood trickling down his fingers and onto the frostbitten grass, "I know that drink all too well. _You goddamn Juggalo FUCK!"_

 _"No, you bastard! I'll do anything, just stop it! Don't you dare touch them!" Bitter tears rushed down RZA's face as the Juggalo forces bound him with chains and pried his eyelids open, forcing him to watch as the Insane Clown Posse tortured his kinsmen. He cringed as Shaggy 2 Dope drew back his hatchet and repeatedly hacked away at Masta Killa, slicing off his tongue and skewering his body upon the marble floors of the Wu-Mansion. RZA wept bitterly for his fallen comrade, "Y-You… you pissant motherfucker!"_

 _The Juggalo pitmaster cackled as he licked the blood from his blade, "Do you understand it now, Emperor RZA? This is my duty, and the duty of the entire Juggalo race. Your people are a tumor that needs to be wiped from the face of the Americaverse, just like all other impure races. You must understand, it was god that made cancer, along with murder. But, it is by the hands of his creations that murder is employed. Does killing make me more than a man? Does it put me on the level of god?" RZA defiantly spat upon the face of his captor, "Hell no, you clown-faced nignoramus! You and your people are no better than animals!"_

 _Shaggy 2 Dope bit down on his lower lip and cracked a saucy grin. He knelt down and stared directly into RZA's bloodshot eyes, "That may be so. That is what we're trying to find out, you see. If I sliced you into ribbons, who would hear the screams? If I set myself ablaze and smothered you, who would perish first? Are we worthy to suckle upon the gilded teats of Washington's love and grace? By observing mortal life's fleeting majesty in all of its animalistic depravity, we come closer to the divine truth. What you call a massacre, we call a holy pilgrimage. With every death, we come closer to understanding the divine machinations of god. This is the true purpose of the Gathering of the Juggalos…"_

Sonic tensed as he felt a fierce aura of blood lust envelope RZA. The hedgehog grabbed his comrade by the shoulders, vigorously shaking him and trying to wipe away the blank, deathly stare plastered on his face. RZA's brow puckered as he stared down the trembling Communist soldier ahead. _"I'll kill you…"_

"I'll send you right to hell… Juggalo filth!" Sonic stood aghast, rendered utterly speechless by his ferocious display of blind fuckfury. As much as the hedgehog hated to admit it, never before in his life had he felt a level of genocidal anger even comparable to that of what his ally was feeling. RZA threw himself at the woefully unprepared Marxist and plunged his fists through his chest, impaling him and piercing both of his lungs.

"Protect ya' neck…" RZA removed his bloodied fist from the Communist's caved-in torso and proceeded to viciously bash in his face. He closed his heart towards his opponent's weak cries for mercy as he reared back his arm, plunging his iron fists into the Marxist's face and shattering his skull.

This Shaolin warlord crackled a sardonic grin, seeming to be enjoying this dark task to an unhealthy degree that shocked even Sonic. He shuddered, "R-RZA…"

RZA continued to furiously maul his opponent's already broken body, picturing the Insane Clown Posse's leader in his place. "What are you standing around for? Can't you do anything to stop this?" Sonic asked and directed his tremulous gaze to the idle members of the Wu-Tang Clan.

Ol' Dirty Bastard glumly shook his head, "Sorry, pardner. There's no reasonin' with 'im when he's like this. Tha kid's been through absolute hell in his short life. Ever since 'dem Juggalo bastards held him prisoner for an entire year, he becomes like this whenever he sees one of 'em. If ya try to bring him back to his senses, you'll just get yer' ass killed in the process."

Sonic caught RZA's blood soaked fist and forced him backwards. He parted his arms, seemingly beckoning the Wu-Tang berserker forward. Sonic smiled, "Goddamn, I really have become a fucking cuck, haven't I? I guess I just can't stand to see that same horrible, genocidal anger in someone else's eyes. I know what a burden that is, RZA. It eats away at your soul, leaving you a shell of a man. So, if you've gotta go into a fucking tardrage n' shit, do it on me. A little pain will do me good to remind me that I'm still alive."

Method Woman watched in silent horror as RZA mercilessly pummeled the hedgehog, reducing Sonic's face to a bloody pulp. "That's right, keep going. Let it all out, brother…" Sonic chuckled as he was sucker punched into the dirt, knocking out several of his teeth in the process.

Richard Simmons widened his eyes in awe. "Sonic is either insane, or the bravest man I've ever seen. He's letting himself get beaten to the brink of death just to snap his friend out of his anger! At first, I thought you were just a guitar-swinging maniac, but I was clearly mistaken. You've got my eternal respect, my brother in arms!" The flamboyant patriot was moved to tears from the hedgehog's desperate ploy, deeply touched in his nether regions by his unrivaled American spirit.

RZA's ferocious strikes began to slow in speed as he slowly returned to his senses. He keeled over and retched at the realization of what he had done in his state of cannibalistic niggerfury, "S-Sonic, brother-man? I… I never meant for any of this to happen! I lost control and nearly got all of you killed because of my foolish grudge. I don't deserve to fight by your side…"

"Do… do you think I'm a monster, Sonic?" RZA asked as he met his tremulous gaze. "We're all monsters, man. To survive in this dirty, nasty, fucked up world of ours, we have to be. I just happen to be a bigger monster than everyone else, that's how I'm livin' it large n' shit. So, I guess the whole 'stoner guy' thing is just an act, eh?" Sonic questioned with a smile, still nursing the wounds dealt to him by RZA.

His chessboxing companion managed a mirthless smile, "Not entirely. I just need somewhere to escape to, ya know? That RZA doesn't have a goddamn care in the world. He's the version of myself that I aspire to be, brother. He's a lie, but a comforting one."

RZA pinched his brow and sighed as he surveyed the smoking carnage that resulted from his previous fight, "You know the worst part about this, Sonic? I knew that the poor soul obviously wasn't a Juggalo the entire time. Anytime I see something that reminds me of their wretched kind, I bring the motherfuckin' ruckus. May the Wu-God grant you safe passage into the next life, Communist."

Ol' Dirty Bastard and his brother combed through the debris, searching for any survivors of this fiercely patriotic onslaught. Ghostface Killah stood aghast as he removed the helmet from the Communist's head, beholding his horrifically scarred and beaten face, "You might want to take a closer look, commander. This is no inbred Juggalo, nor is it a Communist. This… _this is an American!"_

He threw himself atop the team's funeral pyre and hurriedly unmasked the rest of their kills before they could be burnt to cinders. "A-Americans! There isn't a single Communist here! We've been slaughtering Americans by the hundreds!" ODB gasped. _  
_

Sonic keeled over and furiously vomited up chunks of blood and cartilage. For time immemorial, this was the traditional, American way of showing one's disgust. "How the fuck could this happen? Tell me!" The hedgehog beat his fists upon the dirt, sending shockwaves of pious indignation throughout the entire planet.

"They're all missing their tongues, pard. They couldn' even cry out fer' help as we were cuttin' em' down. Is this some kind of sick fuckin' joke?" ODB blustered with rage.

"So, this is the true purpose of the final test. I should have known that sick bastard would pull something like this…" Richard Simmons murmured under his breath. He grinded his teeth together and stormed out of the patch of woods where the 'Newbie Crushing Event' was taking place, "He's doing this just to keep us in line! As long as the members of the Alliance are afraid, we'll obey his every command. Well, not anymore! This has gone too far! I'm putting a stop to this, even if it kills me!"

"Sonic, everyone..." Richard Simmons managed a tremulous smile as he turned to his dumbstruck allies, "If you value your lives, you should leave. Right now, he doesn't have any hostages to keep you in line like he does with everyone else. Pretty soon, there's going to be a bloodbath that will forever change the Americaverse as we know it. Heed my warning: flee from the Alliance and never return!"

 _" **ADAM SANDLER**! _ Face me, you bloody coward!" Richard Simmons tore his gym shorts asunder as he kicked down the steel door leading to his private suite. The depraved son of Karl Marx rose from his velour throne and stepped over his scantily clad handmaidens. The Burger King, the Mooninites, and Kneesocks all readied their weapons. "Master! Shall we deal with him?" They asked.

Adam Sandler obstructed his arm, silently signalling for them to leave his presence. He strode fearlessly towards his brazen challenger and frowned, "You seem to have forgotten your place, slave boy. I hold the fates of all of the alliance's loved ones in my hands! Are you really so heartless that you'd put them in danger to fight me? My, I wonder how your brother feels about this. Let's make a deal: if you back down now, I promise to spare _Gene Simmons._ Well, he might be missing a few limbs after this, but that's the price you expected to pay when you came here, _riiiiiiiight?"_

Although just as twisted and unhinged as ever, it was clear to Simmons that Adam Sandler was far more intelligent than he let on. Richard Simmons raised his fists and prepared to fight, "This alliance is nothing but a sham! You've held us all captive for hundreds of yahrens, forcing us to serve you as your elite soldiers with the lives of our families in the balance. You've forced us to kill countless innocents just to further your sick goals and the goals of your masters in McTartarus. And soon, you're going to force us to commit the greatest act of genocide in the history of the patriotverse. Well, I won't allow it! This ends here, Sandler!"

Richard Simmons's boiling hellrage reached its zenith as he flung himself towards the gangly Communist afore him. Adam Sandler remained still and unflinching, "No mortal can stop the will of the McDemons, slave boy. Soon, the Communist race shall be restored to its former glory by my hands. It pains me to say it, but a puppet without its strings is useless. _So, die."_

Adam Sandler unhinged his jaw and devoured Richard Simmons with one bite. He cooed with devious pleasure as he dipped his hand in a puddle of blood and pulled down his shirt, proceeding to slather the 'M' shaped crest on his sternum with Simmons's fading lifeforce. The mark began to glow red-hot, resonating with the identical brand that Method Woman possessed on her own skin.

"Adam Sandler! Are you alright? I heard what sounded like fighting from the floor above!" Barack Obama hurriedly ran to his companion's side, still blissfully unaware of his true nature.

He cracked a sly grin as he fell to the ground, feigning injury, "Yes, yes! Sandler is fine! Sandler is very lucky to have friend like you, black president. Adam Sandler is usually beast of burden, yes! Black president is very precious to Sandler, yes…" Adam Sandler caressed Obama's swart cheek, staring longingly into his eyes all the while.


	35. Adam Sandler Rising

**DON'T FORGET TO SHARE THIS FANFICTION WITH YOUR FRIENDS, FAMILY, GRANDPARENTS, AND CLERGY. THANK YOU FOR READING.**

 _AGE 1742 B.A. (Before Ameripocalypse)_

Adam Sandler fell upon his face and wept bitterly upon the dewy grass of the morning. Full of grief, he screamed at the wind, still lamenting the brutal murder of his mother, Beyoncé.

He rubbed a sharpened rock across the flesh of his wrist, contemplating taking his own life to erase his pain. He winced as his hand slipped, accidentally digging the stone into his skin and drawing blood. It steadily trickled down his arm and into the lake at his feet, dying the muddy water a deep shade of red.

Sandler collapsed and heaved for air, having already lost a nearly fatal amount of blood from his gaping wound. "...You want to avenge her, don't you? You want to make her murderers pay, correct? Is that your dream, Adam Sandler?" The trembling lad's eyes widened with shock as the sky turned pitch black in an instant.

The voice echoed from an otherworldly red mist that enveloped him from all angles, clouding his senses as he neared closer to death. Sandler nodded his head, "Y-Yes! Of course. Not just mother's killers, either! I want all Americans to pay for their crimes! I never want to see a single Communist suffer at the hands of a patriot again! I want them all to _BURN!"_

Adam Sandler raved incoherently at a moment's notice, still believing himself to be in the midst of a hallucination. A sickening laugh erupted from a mouth unseen, "Exactly as we believed. You are the prophesied one, son of Karl Marx. If you form a covenant with us, we can heal your injuries and bring about the Communist utopia you've dreamt of…"

"W-What are you?" Sandler questioned, somewhat unnerved by their cryptic response. "We are the _McDemons,_ the forgotten princes of the netherworld. And you, Adam Sandler, are our key to salvation. There are two roads you can take: you can remain in this state and rot, or you can embrace your destiny and usher in a new age of peace and prosperity in the Americaverse. Now, _would you care to make a deal?"_

In an event that would change his fate and the fate of the patriotverse for all of time, Adam Sandler reached out his arm and eagerly shook the hand of the king of hell, Ronald McDonald.

 _AGE 2004 P.A. (Post-Ameripocalypse)_

"Look at them all down there, Mr. President. Now that our new government has been formed, all of the races of the Americaverse have swarmed together to try and seize power for themselves. The very same races that denied us the military help we needed during the Ameripocalypse…" Guy Fieri furrowed his brow, watching as dozens of ambassadorial ships disembarked at the New White House, the Americans' headquarters built from the ruins of Wolfsschanze. Garfield begins flashing unflattering poses on a daily basis.

Garfield hovered his finger over the crowded plaza beneath, struggling to count the envoys who had arrived from every corner of the patriotverse. "The Centauri ambassador, the Russian ambassador, the Mexican ambassador… hell, even the Juggalo ambassador showed up! Well, I'm glad that you're here to sort out these fuckin' tosspots, Lincoln. You _are_ still going to remain president, right laddy?" The obese cat chimera turned to Honest Karl, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, about that…" Karl Lincoln began to whistle suspiciously, turning away from Garfield and Fieri to stare at the silver statue erected in Richard Nixon's honor. Anne Frank was frozen with shock, "Lincoln! Surely, you can't mean you are-"

The fused warrior silently bowed his head, "Quitting? I'm sorry, but my time has passed. The Americaverse needs the guidance of a new generation who has never known the horrors of war as I have. In five days, an election will be held to decide the new leader of the Americaverse. However, I'm sure everything will work out just fine! Probably."

"You look concerned, Mr. President. Is there anything I can help you with? I am sworn to protect your life, after all," Guy Fieri lowered his chin, performing a respectful curtsy with his flame print jacket.

Lincoln tugged his companion by the wrist, leading him into an alleyway. "As a matter of fact, there is. Back when I was solely Karl Marx, one of my subordinates showed me something that's been gnawing away at me ever since. They made a clone of my grandson to fight for their cause. Not just any clone, a _perfect_ clone of him," He explained.

The culinary warmaster took a step back in shock, "Shut the front door, son of Tatum O'Neal. _Surely that isn't-!"_ Honest Karl glumly nodded, "Charles Barkley, yes. Currently, I have no cause to believe that he was killed in the previous battle. If there's any chance that I can somehow bring him back to his senses, I'll be willing to do anything. With the deaths of Adam Sandler and Michael Jordan, he's the only family I have left. That's why I have one, final mission for you, old friend: I want you to track down my grandson and bring him home."

"Sonic, where are you taking us? We can't just bail at a time like this, brother-man! Even if the alliance is holding a dark secret, we have to take that chance. They're our only hope of liberating Wu-Tang Prime! For once, can't you think about anyone besides yourself?" RZA trailed closely behind as his hedgehog brother-in-arms trudged through the empty halls of the Alliance of True American Heroes' subterranean compound. Ghostface Killah secretly dreams of becoming a full time housewife.

Sonic hung his head in shame, "I can't just let Richard Simmons's death remained unsolved, RZA. I ain't buyin' that bullshit story that he was slain by a pack of hellhounds in the night. I hated his fuckin' guts, but he was a man of honor. He deserves better than that. The alliance is hiding something, and I'm going to find out what that is! When they see me shootin' the fuck out of their place, they'll be shittin' Ovaltine out of their asses…" With a pious pelvic thrust, the hedgehog blew down the door to Colonel Sanders's private chamber using his gun-cock.

RZA rolled his eyes, already regretting his decision, "Man, I wish I wasn't so soft in these situations. Alright, I'll follow your lead, brother. I guess I still owe you one from what you did for me before. But, just this once!" Sonic disrespectfully rummaged through his master's personal belongings, tossing all of his priceless treasures onto the velociraptor-skin rug beneath his feet and setting them ablaze for no real reason at all.

Sonic sighed, "Man, I'd hate to think that my sensei could be behind this terrible conspiracy, but this is the best place to start lookin'. After all, he is supposed to be the H.N.I.C. of this shitshow."

"Show no love to homo thugs! Even if we squashed the beef, I ain't touchin' ya' hand!" Sonic cried out and swung his axe-guitar, shredding through the legendary _Kentucky Fried Chicken_ recipe as he continued to search for any damning evidence against the alliance. Without speaking, Method Woman quietly walked over to the Kentucky Colonel's golden altar in the center of the room, which held the famed _Chicken-Sword._

She clamped down on the blade's hilt and pulled it towards herself, activating a hidden mechanism that unveiled a secret door positioned directly in front of Sonic and his stalwart allies. "Damn. How are you able to do this shit?" Sonic stared directly into the pale eyes of this prospective fluid druid, completely amazed and overcome with fucklust. She tilted her head and winked at him, "Understanding is a three-edged sword."

Sonic and the Wu-Tang Clan cautiously trod into this secret chamber, unaware of the horrors they were about to uncover. "A-An army…" Sonic stood aghast as he gazed upon a crowded factory beneath him, hard at work constructing hundreds of war machines and a heavily armed fleet of battleships, all teeming with elite Communist soldiers. "They're building an army of _Communists!"_

"In time, I hope you'll forgive us for what we're about to do, my fellow American…" The voice of Colonel Sanders echoed from behind him. Sonic did a double-take as he pivoted his gaze towards the voice, rendered speechless as he beheld all of the alliance's senior members standing before him.

Adam Sandler shoved Colonel Sanders and Hank Hill aside as he burgeoned forth, awkwardly shuffling to the forefront of the group. He snickered, "My, it appears that you've learned far too much already. So, I take it that Richard Simmons told you about our true purpose? Naughty boy. I hate to say it, but I may just have to kill all of you. What a waste of material, you would have made for perfect servants…"


	36. The Sacrifice of Colonel Sanders

**I NEED SOME EXTRA MONEY TO ATTEND THE GATHERING OF THE JUGGALOS WITH MY WIFE AND CHILDREN THIS YEAR. PLEASE SUPPORT ME WITH DONATIONS SO THAT I CAN ACHIEVE THIS GOAL. THANK YOU FOR READING.**

 _"Method Man, pardner! Do ya have any idea what the hell yer about to do? Those damned creatures cain't be trusted, you'll be destroyed in the process!" Ol' Dirty Bastard desperately pleaded, charging across the battlefield to reach his inconsolable comrade's side. Method Man ignored his plea and slit a deep gash in his wrist with his serrated dagger._

 _He reached out his arm, using his lifeblood to paint a 'M' shaped crest upon the parched land beneath. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked down, still cradling the battered corpse of his young daughter, Method Woman, in his shaky grasp._

 _He managed a mirthless smile, "I'm sorry, my friend. I could never live with myself knowing that I was partly responsible for my daughter's death. She insisted on following me into battle, and I was foolish enough to let her out of my sight. It's all my fault that the Juggalos killed her. If I'm dragged down to hell in return, so be it. As long as she survives…"_

 _ODB shuddered with an indescribable feeling of primal terror as the sun eclipsed the moon, bathing the land in an unholy corpselight. "T-Tha McDemons have arrived…"_

* * *

"Ah, I see. So you are the one who's been resonating with the brand of the McDemons' chosen!" Adam Sandler paced around the interrogation chamber, staring intetnly at his struggling prisoner. He shredded her shirt with his linoleum knife to take a closer look at the brand burnt into her sternum.

He smirked, "It appears that we're more similar than we even realized. I take it they also brought you back from near death too, right? We both have gained godlike foresight and telekinesis abilities at the price of our sanity. Well, calling us mad wouldn't be fair. We have a far greater understanding of this mortal world than anyone else could ever dream of. In a way, you could say that we're kindred spirits."

Method Woman wrinkled up her nose in disgust as he leaned closer, running his gangrenous tongue across her cheek. Sonic's impotent fuckrage reached its peak as he began to furiously shuffle around in the chains that bound him. He growled, "Let go of her, you sick Commie FUCK!"

Colonel Sanders struck Sonic across the face with his legendary pimp hand. He knelt down and whispered into the hedgehog's ear, "Don't struggle, boy! You may be able to live if you play your cards right, but you absolutely can't make him mad. I'm trying to save you, ya damn idjit!"

Adam Sandler chuckled, seemingly amused by his ineffectual show of force, "I suppose this is all rather cruel for a prideful American like yourself. Truly, even now I still can't help but feel impressed by your unadulterated niggerfury! As a parting gift, I'll go ahead and tell you exactly what we're planning. Even if you _were_ free, it's not like you could stop the will of McDemons. Not even I could prevent what's about to happen. This was all preordained long ago…"

Sonic turned away from his impossibly smug, self-satisfied gaze, "You're just a damn pawn of Karl Marx. And yet, you act like you've been plotting this for hundreds of years. Drop the cracker tricknology already, you fuckin' stank poon!"

Hank Hill let out an exasperated sigh, "That's exactly how it was, boy. Before the Ameripocalypse, before the wars… he's been planning this since day one, right under everyone's noses, including his own father. You may not have known it, but he's always been there, pulling the strings of every force in the patriotverse to further his twisted goals. We're just the pieces on his chess board in a game that's been going on for countless generations."

Adam Sandler cracked a smug grin. He bowed his head and bit down on his lower lip, "Everything has been meticulously planned so that we would come to this conclusion. By manipulating the minds of the weak with my power, anything is possible. I forced Garfield to send me to hell, knowing that is where I would meet Barack Obama. I made the armies of the Americaverse to join together to wipe out the Communist homeworld. I forced Adolf Hitler to leave Wolfsschanze's destruction for last, knowing that he and Communism itself would be dealt with in one, fell swoop. Lastly, I tipped Donald Trump off to the location of the Biker Brethren, having learned with foresight that Barkley's death would lead you here to become my future pawn. _I was always there, Sonic."_

Caillou glumly nodded his head, verifying his master's words. He sighed, "We've all been held hostage for centuries. Deep down, Sandler knew that the American race made up the strongest warrior class in the galaxy. So he turned us into his damn slaves. He keeps our loved ones imprisoned, threatening them if we don't do exactly as he says. He's even got my kid sister, _Rosie._ And very soon, our true purpose is about to be fulfilled."

Sonic and the Wu-Tang Clan were rendered speechless with horror as they hearkened upon his hoarse words. The hedgehog grinded his teeth together, fuckfurious beyond words, "You're more clever than you look, Sandler. So, Communism is finally dead, eh? But how does slaughtering your own race help you? Would you really sink that low to further your goddamn plans?"

The son of Karl Marx tilted his head and chuckled at the hedgehog's hopeless situation, "They're a small, yet necessary sacrifice. Soon, their deaths will have meaning. In exactly ten hours, I plan to release the McDemons and their servants from their millennia-long imprisonment in hell. As has been planned for countless generations, their powers shall merge with mine and grant me the abilities of a physical _GOD!_ With this unutterably limitless strength, I shall destroy the Americaverse and build a Communist utopia from its ashes. A place where no Marxist shall ever feel pain at the hands of an American again!"

RZA spat out his joint out of disgust, "You're sick!" Ghostface Killah's eyes widened with shock as he came to truly absorb the words of his captor.

He gritted his teeth, "The McDemons are some of the oldest and darkest spirits in the history of the Americaverse. George Washington bound them in that pit with a seal that even the strongest of chaos-magick wielding negromancers could never break! To release them from their imprisonment would take a massive blood sacrifice. Thousands, no… _millions_ would need to be killed and offered in exchange! You could never amass that many dead in one place, it's impossible!"

"...That's why I allowed Wolfsschanze to be destroyed. With the formation of the Americans' new government, billions of different people from all the races have flocked together in one, convenient place. Are you beginning to see why I have been amassing this army?" Adam Sandler maundered in a low voice as he drew back his index finger, flicking Ghostface on his forehead. Sonic keeled over and retched as all of the pieces of the puzzle began to come together in his genocide-clouded mind.

 _"Pretty soon, there's going to be a bloodbath that will forever change the Americaverse as we know it. Heed my warning: flee from the Alliance and never return!"_ Sonic trembled with anger as he recalled Richard Simmon's final, noble words. Only now, when he was far too late to stop this grim fate, did Sonic truly come to realize the meaning behind his cryptic warning.

He trembled with a mixture of fear and rage, "...A bloodbath. He's planning to kill the Biker Brethren and wipe out almost every American in existence just to further his goals!"

"And it's all thanks to your old friend, Richard Nixon. In his future, I was slain in battle by Adolf Hitler before my dream for all Communists could be fulfilled. We used him as a pawn to ensure that our outcome would differ from the one in his future, fooling him into believing that we were on his side. Nixon is the only one here who still genuinely believes that we're trying to save America. This was all made possible by his foolish actions! By coming back in time, he actually doomed this country to destruction!" Adam Sandler roared with thunderous laughter. His enslaved followers soon followed, all mustering forced, clearly false laughter in order to appease him.

Colonel Sanders remained behind after Adam Sandler and the members of the alliance had left the chamber. "You know, I did try to warn you, ya idjit. You're just as hard-headed as you were when I first trained you, boy. I put you and your comrades through that hellish training in an attempt to try and scare you off. When that didn't work, I introduced you to the members of the group to secretly tip you off to their weaknesses. Well, I suppose it was a long shot, anyway," The Kentucky Colonel removed the pipe from his lips, blowing a massive smoke ring into his former apprentice's face.

"I've gotta ask you something, sensei." The hedgehog lowered his chin, buying time as he desperately tried to come up with a plan of escape, "Who is that damn Commie holding hostage to keep you in line? Why are you still working for him?"

Colonel Sanders frowned, _"You._ He brought you here to try and control me after my damn foolishness got my previous hostage killed. However, not all of us are here by force. Some of them serve him by their own will; his personal elite. Their names are _Ignignokt, Err, Kneesocks,_ and the _Burger King._ When you make your escape, watch out for them."

"You're going to have to hurry, boy. You'll be several hours behind them even at top speed. No matter what, make sure this massacre doesn't come to pass!" The Kentucky Colonel whistled nonchalantly as he unsheathed the Chicken-Sword, using this blade to slice the chains that restrained Sonic and his pious kinsmen.

"S-Sensei, _you...!"_ Sonic watched in horror as Sanders drew back his blade, using it to impale himself directly through the stomach. He wiped away the blood trickling down his chin and smiled warmly, "If that Commie bastard sees my dead body like this, he'll believe that you were forced to kill me during your escape. If I had let you escape freely, he would have murdered everyone else's hostages just to set an example. To protect the ones I care about, this is the only way. Now, get the hell outta here while you still can!"

Sonic choked back tears as he cradled his broken master in his arms. Colonel Sanders rested a caring hand upon the hedgehog's shoulder, "I'm proud of you, Sonic. You were the best student I could have ever asked for. Now, get the hell out there and save our country, ya idjit! Become what you were truly born to be: _the defender of America!"_

The hedgehog tore his jeans asunder and fired his weaponized gun-dick at the floor. He lifted up the debris with his calloused hands, using them to bury Colonel Sanders and ease his journey into the blessed White House. "Come on, everyone," Sonic charged ahead, savagely breaking down dozens of reinforced steel doors with his cock and leaping atop his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle. He raised his electric guitar to the sky and throatily roared like a mighty bald eagle, "Let's rock the fuck out!"

 _"...Remember this, child of the Wu-Tang tribe: when the prophesied son rises, the end of days and the new dawn of the cycle of time shall be ushered in by two who bear the brand of the McDemons, bringing about the rebirth of the corporeal world as we know it. Do you still wish to offer your life to save this child?" The envoy of McTartarus, Mayor McCheese, questioned Method Man. He removed the cap from his head and smiled, looking down at the cold, unmoving body of his daughter. "I'll do whatever it takes and pay any price. Please, just bring her back to me!" He begged.  
_

"Meth…" Ol' Dirty Bastard spoke with an unexpectedly grave tone. "Do ya still want to go through with this? From what we've seen, you 'n Sandler are tha only ones who have that brand. If worse comes ta worse, it's possible that you could be the one of the two who causes the Ameripocalypse. Ya said it yourself, even yer future sight ain't gon' predict how this day will end. It ain't too late to turn back!" He warned.

Method Woman dropped his tremulous gaze. She turned, watching as Sonic drove off and into the infinite majesty of the cosmos, "I'd follow that man anywhere, Mr. Bastard. He has a destiny far greater than all of us combined. For his sake, I'd gladly risk my life thousands of times over. I'd even follow him into the depths of hell. If he is to die this night as I predicted, I will gladly stand by his side during his final battle, no matter the cost!"


	37. Rebirth of Adolf Hitler

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA FINALE - THE LAST CHAPTER**

 **PART 1 OF 4 - "Rebirth of Adolf Hitler"**

* * *

 _The United States of America. The home of the free, and the home of second chances. This is where I was born, and this is where I died. For the first few decades of my life, I was a drifter. I killed Communists for fun and occasionally sexual pleasure. But then, I met a man named Abraham Lincoln, and everything changed._

 _Suddenly, I carried the weight of the entire Americaverse on my shoulders. I was no longer fighting just for myself. I lost close friends and gained many new ones. For once, I had a family. I was no longer fighting for my own selfish reasons. These were the best moments of my short life. I thought they would never end._

 _My name is Sonic the Hedgehog. I'm a simple man; I like heavy metal and chicks with big hooters. The year is 2004, fifteen generations after the beginning of the Ameripocalypse. This is the year that everything changed. This is the year when the Biker Brethren were destroyed._

 _It began without warning in the night. The Anarcho-Communist battlefleet arrived, led by Adam Sandler and his wicked servants. They unleashed a deadly salvo on the world beneath, strafing the planet's surface and reducing the soil to molten slag. In the blink of an eye, this attack wiped out nearly a third of the planet's population. Hell was about to be unleashed..._

"I don't care if you have to tear this entire world apart to find it! Bring me the book of Mein Kampf immediately!" Adam Sandler growled from behind his blood stained fangs. His enslaved soldiers scrambled over piles upon piles of brutalized corpses as they sifted through the debris of the United State's capitol city, searching for the accursed grimoire of Karl Marx.

"Master, I found it!" The Burger King called out as he retrieved the spell book from a golden chest buried under the rubble. Without speaking, Adam Sandler spitefully shoved him to the ground and swiped the book from his shaky grasp. He then began to read it aloud, uttering an incantation to open the gates of the underworld and release the McDemons.

The son of Marx contorted his chapped lips into a sickening grin as he raised his prize to the sky, "The time has finally arrived! Rise from your imprisonment in the depths of Hell! Rise and cleanse this sinful land of its evil! _Rise, my McMasters!"_

Garfield groaned and rubbed the back of his neck as he clawed his way out of the flaming debris piled on top of him. The obese man cat quivered with terror as he regained his senses, beholding the nightmarish, distorted hellscape that covered the land like a shroud. With the exception of a few faint outlines of buildings in the haze, the land no longer bore any resemblance to the realm of the living. This was the _astral plane,_ ancestral subdimension of the netherbeings banished by Washington's grace and fuckfury.

This ominous, fey land did not augur well for the safety of Garfield and his kinsmen. The portly Ecaflip felt around in the darkness, unable to properly navigate due to the heavy, vaguely red clouds that shrouded the heavens above. The cat's ears perked as he espied a row of figures staring down upon him in the distance, their bodies lit only by the ethereal, greenish glow that bathed the rocky terrain below. "H-Hey, survivors! C'mere lads, it's not safe over there! The planet is under attack!" He called out.

The feline stopped dead in his tracks as he took a closer look at the creatures gazing down upon him. "...T-Those aren't Americans. _What the hell are they?"_ The beings loomed over the field as a vast, black shape. Their pustule covered flesh spasmed and contorted awkwardly as they shuffled nearer, reminiscent of an automaton's poor attempt at replicating human life.

The cat readied his alligator-nunchuks and snarled, "Damned Mondays, I knew something would go wrong! This isn't the world of the living… this place is like a nightmare! We've been dragged down to _Hell!"_

"Almost right, my friend. We haven't been taken to Hell. Rather, Hell has been taken to us! The astral world has been merged with the physical world, melding two dimensions that were never meant to cross into one. One things for sure: this is very, very bad!" Honest Karl tipped his stovepipe hat towards the feline as he approached from behind. Vladimir Putin soon joined him, followed by the Biker Brethren and a few thousand other survivors of the first attack.

The fearful cries of the American survivors rose due to Lincoln's words, and a tumult of shouting and screaming soon broke out. Guy Fieri fired his Desert Eagle into the sky, silencing the clamor, "Everyone, just calm down! We'll find out whoever is behind this and send their asses straight to Flavortown. But until then, complaining isn't going to help! We have to stick together and keep a level head about this!"

Dwayne Johnson furrowed his brow as he stared at the growing number of figures converging above them _. "...They're coming! They're coming! They shall arrive! Coming! They're almost here! Our kings are arriving! Fear them, fear them! They're coming!"_ The deranged, mutated creatures stomped their feet on the ground, all shouting and chanting in unison. Lincoln and his kinsmen trembled as a great earthquake shook the earth, sending dust, stray sparks of electricity, and debris flying in all directions. _"They're HERE!"_

From the bowels of the underworld rose an unutterably massive, bloated, purple mass of afterbirth-like flesh known as the _Grimace._ This putrid creature manifested itself from billions upon billions of plague rats, all swarming and congregating together into a vaguely humanoid shape that towered over the land.

Anne Frank slowly backed away and trembled, far too mortified to run. She gasped, _"...McDonaldland._ The legends are true! The McDemons really do exist! Creatures so vile that George Washington-sama sealed them away for all of eternity!"

 _"Robblerobblerobblerobble!"_ A gravelly, inhuman whine rang throughout the night as a moon faced wraith clawed its way out of a river of magma. The creature was swaddled in a fleshy coat of multi-colored entrails, vaguely resembling a traditional prisoner's outfit.

"Cheeseburgers! Cheeseburgers!" The deranged beast spread its frayed wings and soared across the land, swooping down and devouring the heads of several unsuspecting Americans. The second of the McDemons was known as the _Hamburglar,_ the mythical thief of souls with an insatiable appetite for blood and processed food.

The third member of the McDemons, _Birdie the Early Bird,_ descended from the sky in a ball of fire. This daemonic clergy and their twisted servants then raised their hands to the sky, chanting in unison for the coming arrival of their godless lord and master. "...W-Wait, is that a head? _There's more of these bloody things?!"_ Bert quaked with fear. He turned his chin upwards, gazing upon the faint shape of a humanoid face pushing its way through the cloud cover.

This immeasurably vast emissary of evil orbited around the ruins of the Communist homeworld, clutching the broken planet in the palms of his hands and lowering his gaunt, deathly pale face into the stratosphere. Even the mighty, patriotic spirit of Honest Karl was frozen with fear as he gazed upon the monolithic archdaemon staring down upon the world, blotting out the sun with his everlasting menace.

The demonic lord parted his lips and began to speak, "...I bid thee welcome to this distant, abstract plane, ye' children of man. This setting shall be the birthplace of a new world, awakened by the one chosen by the hands of causality and the cycle of time. The prophesied son, forsaken child of the Communist lord: _Adam Sandler!"_

Hundreds of _Fry Kids_ threw themselves to their deaths from the face of a cliff, piling into a heap that stretched for miles in height. Perched atop this altar of flesh situated in the center of Hell was none other than Adam Sandler, standing alongside the stalwart members of his alliance.

"I believe I'm starting to piece together the puzzle. Let me guess: you tricked my long lost son into summoning you so that you could be free to walk the Americaverse as you did in the days of old, spreading chaos and despair throughout the world. Sound about right?" Karl Lincoln's veins flared with the astral fuckfury of his forefathers as he directed his guitar towards Ronald McDonald and his McClergy.

The princes of Hell all roared with thunderous laughter. "Incorrect, chosen of Washington. We art the kinsmen of this blessed king that will usher in the rebirth of the Americaverse. He does not blindly worship us. Rather, we are the ones who worship him!" Ronald McDonald bowed his head, leading his twisted forces in prostration in honor of Sandler.

"...T-These things worship you? Rebirth of the world? What's going on, old friend? _Tell me!"_ Barack Obama buried his head between his knees, desperately praying for this endless nightmare to end.

"It is time for your 'pet' to pledge himself to the order, O' blessed McKing. Allow this man of low birth to make his sacrifice so that he may receive the brand of the McDemons' chosen and gain immortality!" Ronald McDonald's putrid voice echoed as he reached out his six-fingered hand, singling out Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson and delivering him to the altar. The Rock hurriedly ran to embrace Obama, "Mr. President, you're still alive! But, what are you doing in this foul place?"

Before Obama could speak, Adam Sandler dropped a rusted, dull knife at his feet. Sandler knelt down and took the president's trembling hands into his own, forcing him to lift the dagger. He leaned in closer and whispered into his ear, "Prove your undying loyalty to me, dear friend. Take up that blade and slay this man, or I will kill all of the myriad Americans you see before you now."

In one of the few, rare moments of bravery in his existence, Obama unzipped his jeans and struck Sandler with his swarthy cock. The president held his chin high and wiped the tears from his eyes, "What the hell is wrong with you? You are not the same man that I met before. The Adam Sandler I know would never associate with such wretched beings! I still see the good in you, friend. You could never commit genocide! I refuse to take an innocent man's life!"

In a show of force, Adam Sandler turned and clenched his fists, signalling for his McDemonic servants to strike. The Grimace reared back his fist, effortlessly crushing hundreds of blameless Americans under his hefty digits. Obama watched in abject horror as his kinspeople were mercilessly slaughtered by the dozens. "Stop it! Stop it _NOW!"_ He cried.

Sandler turned up his nose as he watched the president weep bitterly upon the ground. "Everything I said about you was true, my friend. You are very, very precious to me. I want you to gain immortality so that we may purify this sinful world together and live for all of time! I became obsessed with you ever since the time I first saw you in one of my dreams. You and I shall create a utopia free from war, strife, and hate. You have an extremely important role to play in my destiny, I have foreseen it! Also, _I'm madly in love with you..."_ Barack Obama recoiled with disgust as Adam Sandler saucily nibbled his ear and caressed his well toned body.

Sandler turned to The Rock, meeting his tremulous gaze. He grinned, "Now, do it. Spare the lives of your friends by killing this man. What will it be: one life, or several thousand? It's your choice."

Dwayne Johnson bowed his head, accepting his grim fate, "Listen to him, Mr. President. If my death will save the lives of hundreds, I can perish without any regrets. I soiled my soul by taking the life of an innocent man, going against all of my beliefs. This is the fate I deserve. So, do it. Take that knife and strike me down!"

Somehow, The Rock's acceptance of the matter at hand made the act Obama was about to commit even worse. The president bowed his head, completely crestfallen, "I-I can't! You're one of my closest companions, Dwayne. I won't lose you again!"

"Very well, then. I had hoped to have you willingly stand by my side, but I guess your sentimentality for one man is worth more than the lives of all your people. Kill them all!" Adam Sandler pivoted his gaze to the monolithic archdaemons afore him, preparing to give the order. "STOP!" Obama cried out, tears streaming down his face harder than ever. "I… I'll do it. To save my people, I'll kill this man!"

Adam Sandler cooed with pleasure and licked his lips, overcome with lust. Obama took a final look at the rusted blade in his trembling hands. It was so dull that the president had serious doubts if it could slice through butter, let alone the flesh of a human. To Obama, it was evident that Dwayne's death would be anything but quick and painless. Barack pulled back the knife and wept, preparing to strike, "Forgive me, old friend…"

He repeatedly plunged the blade into The Rock's neck, bathing his face and loins with a visceral spray of blood. He closed his eyes as he continued to violently jab the dagger into his body, chipping away his flesh at an agonizingly slow rate. Obama winced as he opened one eye, mortified to see that The Rock was still barely hanging on to life.

 _"...FUCK!"_ A sickening snap was heard as Obama's flesh choked knife finally dug through the bones in his turkey neck, decapitating Dwayne Johnson. Obama began to bawl like a child as he stared down at his blood soaked hands and body, _"I-I'm a monster._ None of the Biker Brethren would have done this, even if it were their last resort. I'm just a damned coward, always crumbling under pressure. I'm the one who deserved to die this way…"

Barack Obama reeled backwards as he felt a sharp pain shoot into his chest. He pulled down his shirt, gazing upon the blood soaked 'M' shaped brand now carved into his flesh. Adam Sandler slowly clapped, applauding his actions, "Congratulations, my love. I knew that you'd come through for me! You're one of us, now." Obama slapped away Adam Sandler's outstretched hand, "Don't touch me, you sick bastard!"

Sandler pursed his lips and frowned. "There's one last thing I need you to know: I lied before. I'm still going to kill your friends. _All of them._ I just wanted to see how far you'd be willing to go for me, my love. There's no place for filthy Americans in the utopia I plan to create. Well, save for you, of course," The chosen of the McDemons then rose to his feet, preparing to give the order for his battle fleet to destroy what was left of the Communist homeworld.

Karl Lincoln snuck up from behind, having scaled Sandler's tower of flesh using only his katana and grizzly bear hands. He swung his oriental blade with a patriotic fervor, gracefully hewing off Adam Sandler's left arm with one clean slice. The son of Marx keeled over with a shout, nursing the oozing stump where his hefty digits once laid.

Lincoln pressed the tip of his sword against his opponent's neck and growled, "Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power. I still love you, my son. But if you intend to tear down this patriotic galaxy I've worked so hard to protect, I will be forced to destroy you. You have two choices: _surrender now, or take up arms and fight me!"_

"Don't interfere!" Sandler spat towards his advancing soldiers, "I will handle this myself!" Honest Karl drew back his leg, sending Sandler flying helplessly with a righteous roundhouse kick. This warlord of divine piety shouted out his throaty battle cry, "I show no love to homo thugs! How you gonna' explain fuckin' a man? Even if we squashed the beef, I ain't touchin' ya hand!"

Adam Sandler jerkily scampered forward upon all-fours, throwing himself upon Lincoln and sending them both plummeting from the zenith of the tower. The two warriors dueled in midair during their five hundred furlong descent, both unleashing a fuckferocious maelstrom of immeasurably fast punches and kicks. Lincoln winced with pain as Sandler dug his rotting fangs into his arm, tearing out a sizeable chunk of flesh in the process.

"Jeez, are we too late? This place looks like a goddamn shithole. Maybe if we silently back away and bail, nobody will notice," Sonic hesitantly dismounted from his Harley, beholding the ruin brought about by Adam Sandler and his men.

"Wait, that couldn't be-! Senpai, it really is you!" Garfield wiped the tears of joy from his eyes, tackling the patriotic hedgehog. The other bikers followed suit, eagerly running to greet him. "Damn, stop with the waterworks n' shit. This is gon' look gay as hell!" The hedgehog groused, crawling out from underneath the cat chimera's abundant girth.

"I'm glad to see that you haven't changed too much, Sonic," Anne Frank smiled, wrapping her delicate arms around his impossibly statuesque chest and loins. "Who's that hoe?" Method Woman narrowed her eyes, shooting her a disapproving glare.

Sonic's wispy chest haired fluttered wildly in the wind as he stood, staring down his sodomous foes. The hedgehog playfully smirked, "It looks like the 'Boyz 'n the Hood' are finally back together. So, what did I miss while I was gone?"

"Winnie the Pooh and Nixon were killed, Adolf Hitler was destroyed, and we started a new government. Nothing too out of the ordinary for us," Guy Fieri spoke with a stifled chuckle. "Shame about Dick, he wasn't such a bad guy after all. But, who the fuck is Winnie the Pooh? Never heard of him," The hedgehog bluntly admitted.

Garfield scratched the top of his head, "Don't you remember, laddy? Big yellow guy, bad manners? You kicked his ass a few times, too!"

"You're just makin' this shit up, crunkenstein. I would have remembered somebody like that," Sonic shrugged, not seeming too concerned. Guy Fieri turned to the hedgehog's newfound allies. "Nevermind that. Who are your friends? Did you join the _Black Panthers_ or something while you were away?" He asked.

"That's not important right now, you Betty Crocker fuck-muscle. I've got bigger titties to lick right now. I just showed up to slay the fuck out of Adam Sandler with my cock. I came here to kick ass and eat shit, and I'm all outta shit!" Sonic the Hedgehog roared, unzipping his jeans and freeing his cybernetic gun-dick.

He turned to Method Woman, "So, what are we up against here? What makes that goddamn knob slobber so important to those damned McDemons you told me about?"

"For the McHegemony of Hell, a person's worth is determined by how much _time energy_ they exude. It's an invisible force that surrounds all living beings, and the more of it you possess, the greater destiny you shall have. Adam Sandler possesses a staggering amount of time energy, unrivaled by anyone else of the mortal world. Save for maybe you and your child, of course. Worshiping him would mean gaining great power and influence for themselves. That's why they are willing to give their lives to him!" She elaborated in a grim tone of voice.

Sonic unsheathed his guitar and chuckled. "I bet this Sandler guy thinks he's hot shit with his fancy-ass destiny, huh? Well, he'll have another thing comin' when I send him straight to Hell!" He roared.

"What's going on, Mr. President? You could destroy Adam Sandler with both hands tied behind your back at your full power! Why are you still holding back?" Guy Fieri murmured under his breath, watching in horror as Sandler began to gain the upper hand in this heated battle. Sandler wildly frothed from the mouth as he locked his fingers around Lincoln's neck on descent, plowing him deep within the blood stained earth.

Honest Karl socked his son in the stomach with his boot, lobbing him high into the air. Adam Sandler was quick to counter, utilizing afterimages to split into several different copies of himself and lunge at his father. With the Communist-Slayer in one hand and his katana in the other, Lincoln effortlessly destroyed the fakes generated by his child's godless chaos-magick.

"Finishing Move: **「Hot Rod Lincoln」**!" Utilizing his strongest technique, Karl Lincoln surrounded his body with an imperceptible set of tachyon plated armor, allowing him to travel at several thousand times the speed of light. Charging forth at an electric speed, Lincoln struck his Nephilim son down, quickly and decisively putting an end to their fight.

This patriotic warlord hoisted his son skywards by his collar, holding the edge of his guitar against his neck and preparing to strike. He tarried for a brief moment and gulped, staring deep into the fearful eyes of his child. Lincoln's grip trembled, signifying his inability to slay his own son.

 _"F-Father…"_ Adam Sandler's eyes slowly opened. He was shocked to see that Lincoln had released his grip on the Communist-Slayer, letting it fall limply to the ground. Sonic stood aghast, "What are you doing, rail-splitter? Slay the fuck out of his punk ass!"

The president wiped the tears from his eyes. He parted his arms, coming to embrace his son, "Forgive me, everyone. I just can't bring myself to kill him, even after what he's done. He's the only family I have left. I don't blame you for what you did, son. When your mother died and you needed me the most, I was never there for you. I was too consumed by revenge to see what you were becoming, what I was turning you into. I hardened my heart to your suffering as a child, transforming you into the machine of vengeance you are now. For that, _I'm truly sorry…"_

"He can't be trusted, rail-splitter! _Kill him NOW!"_ The hedgehog desperately urged, breaking free from the grip of his allies and charging directly towards the fused warrior's location.

"Father, I forgive you too. That's why what I'm about to do is going to be extremely difficult for me…" Adam Sandler spoke with a tender smile, tightly clutching his jacket and weeping upon his shoulder. Sonic stood dead in his tracks as the piercing sound of a gunshot rang throughout the night sky. Before his father had any time to react, Adam Sandler withdrew his pistol and pressed it against Lincoln's chest, blowing a dime-sized hole straight through his heart.

 _ **"LINCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLN!"**_

The president fell limply to the ground, barely alive. Adam Sandler dug his boot into Lincoln's chest. However, gone was the murderous simper he had plastered upon his face during the previous battle. Rather, he seemed to have come to genuinely regret his decision.

He choked back tears as he spoke, "I hold no ill will against you, father. But you must understand: my utopia has no place for race traitors. You soiled your body by merging with that disgusting American, making you every bit as repulsive as their kind! The Karl Marx I called 'father' is long dead. Your death will mark the beginning of the end for the American race. Only once they are exterminated can we Communists truly know peace. Don't you see the truth as I see it?"

The Biker Brethren hurriedly ran to their president's side, joining their leader in his final moments. Lincoln rested his head on Sonic's lap, smiling with the warmth and compassion characteristic of all American nobility. He smiled tenderly, "Don't weep for me, my kinsmen. I walk slowly, but I never walk backward. This is not the end, but rather, this is simply a new chapter in my life. _I'm about to become part of the legend, my friends."_

"L-Lincoln…" The hedgehog could hold back his grief no longer. Sonic fell upon his face and wept, and his righteous tears glistened in the light of the rising sun with dazzling hues of red, white, and blue.

"You're the one who gave my life meaning, Rail-Splitter. Losing Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley was bad enough, I can't lose you too! _DON'T LEAVE US!"_ Sonic cried. With his last breath, Lincoln heaved his ruined body to a single chair that rested high over the battlefield, gazing down upon the rugged terrain from above the clouds.

As the light of this new dawn washed over his bare chest and loins, the pious demigod's golden skin hardened and turned to stone. His immortal life fled from his body, giving birth to a landmark that would come to be known for the rest of time as the legendary _"Lincoln Memorial."_

Adam Sandler stood aghast. He watched as the maw of the heavens above opened wide, piercing through the unending storms of the netherworld and shining down upon Sonic and his fearless kinspeople. The brazen hedgehog's muscles pulsated with a dark, sepulchral energy, scattering stray bits of dust and debris in all directions.

The son of Marx trembled with primal terror, "S-Such hate and anger! I've never felt anything like it! It's like I'm staring right into the eyes of the devil himself. But, he's just an American, _r-right…?"_

Sonic's face contorted with rage, taking on a daemonic mien that appeared undeniably similar to the face of Adolf Hitler from afar. He spoke in a low voice, "I don't care if I die here. So, I'm going to use everything. I'll hunt you down to the very end of the Americaverse if I have to. I'm going to wipe you and the rest of your despicable kind from the face of the earth… _**ADAM SANDLER**!_ _"_


	38. Fall of the Biker Brethren

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA FINALE - THE LAST CHAPTER**

 **PART 2 OF 4 - "Fall of the Biker Brethren"**

* * *

"...My predictions were right. Sonic the Hedgehog is no mere man. He is the reincarnation of the devil himself! Inside him dwells the immortal spirit of _Adolf Hitler!"_ Adam Sandler gazed in horror upon the wrath-filled hedgehog from behind the black haze that shrouded his body.

He shook with terror, watching as his muscles began to tumefy and expand to several times their original size. All of Sonic's quills and his topmost layer of flesh peeled away from his body, beginning the start of his metamorphosis into the unutterable monstrosity once chained inside of his soul.

Sonic caressed his transformed face with the palm of his hand, fondling his newly grown toothbrush mustache. "You've won, Adolf Hitler. Give me all of your strength and take control of my body. Grant me the power to avenge Abraham Lincoln's death!" He murmured under his breath, full of anger. _  
_

Anne Frank trembled, but not from beholding the putrid face of Adolf Hitler reflected upon Sonic. Rather, she was fearful for the life of her companion, "What price did he have to pay to gain such massive strength? You have to stop this, Sonic! If you keep using this power, what will happen to you?"

She cautiously ambled forward and wrapped her arms around the hedgehog's waist. In a fraction of a second, infinitely faster than the blink of an eye, Sonic slapped the android away from his body with the force of ten thousand semi trucks. Bits of her metal chassis were scattered all across the battlefield as his pimp hand collided with her cheek, decapitating Anne Frank and sending her severed head flying.

"...ANNE!" Garfield hurriedly rushed over to the battered android, catching the pieces of her ruined body upon descent. He let out a sigh of relief, pleased to see that she was still functioning, albeit barely.

"I had hoped this day would never come…" Method Woman collapsed, burying her head between her knees. RZA quirked an eye ridge, "Wait, you mean you saw this coming, Meth? You knew that Sonic would transform into… _that?"_

She coyly nodded her head, "Not just this, RZA. I predicted _everything._ My visions are always absolute. It's impossible to change this cycle of fate, death, and rebirth, even if you know the events that are about to happen down to the very last detail. Sharing this burden of knowledge would inevitably only serve to make things worse for everyone involved. That man Sonic once knew of, Richard Nixon, came to this world with righteous intent but only managed to hasten this bloody end. This knowledge is the curse I am forced to bear, the curse of the McDemons..."

In that instant, as if a veil was lifted from over his eyes, the hidden meanings of all of his partner's cryptic warnings became perfectly clear in RZA's mind.

 _ **"You are not yet ready to understand who you are. When you learn, it will be the end of us all..."**_

"Adam Sandler-sama, we need to withdraw while we're still able! The ritual for your transition into godhood can be postponed until a later date, but it will be impossible if that monster kills us all!" Paul Blart fell upon his face, desperately pleading to his master in a gamble to spare the lives of his fellow Americans.

A sickening grin spread across Adam Sandler's face as he pivoted his gaze to the McDemons and his malicious servants. Clearly, he was plotting something. He swung around his leg, stomping upon the face of the American grovelling at his feet for no reason other than pure spite.

Adam Sandler drew back his mouth in a snarl, "Cowards, the lot of you! If we can find the perfect hostage to keep him in line, the godlike powers of that American will be ours! He'd be far more useful than all of you salubrious motherfuckers combined. But first, we need an appropriate test of his strength. Hearken upon my words: slay all of his American allies and incur the limitless power of his true anger! _Let the massacre begin!"_

 _ **"...I've heard that you can predict the future. Tell me: how is this all going to end?" Method Woman despondently shook her head. "In fire."**_

The fifth and final member of the McDemons, _Mac Tonight,_ fell from the sky shrouded in a ball of fire. The monolithic archdaemon emerged from the asteroid shell that encased him, rising to his feet and wiping the dust from his stylish pimp suit. He bowed his crescent-shaped face, acknowledging the Biker Brethren's presence with a condescending sneer. In a show of force, Mac Tonight raised his dual shotguns to the sky and laughed, "Niggers, Jews? Bad fuckin' news!"

Adam Sandler raised his arm, convulsing with twisted, orgasmic pleasure as his malignant servants burgeoned forth. The forces of the McDemons collided with the American army, exploding in a visceral fuckfury and watering the ground with their lifeblood. "The hordes of Flavortown are upon us! Take up arms and fight! FULL THROTTLE!" Guy Fieri bayed at the moon, charging headfirst into the fray.

 _ **"The existence of the scorned child's manifesto shall come to a close in the days soon to follow, but in time, it shall begin anew in ways still yet uncertain..."**_

The Hamburglar gored Bert through the stomach with his horns, rupturing both of his lungs in the process. "...W-Wait for me, my heartsweet. I'm coming to join you in the next life, Ernie!" Dozens of spikes suddenly jutted out from this McAbomination's extremities like antlers, piercing hundreds of holes through Bert's body and utterly disemboweling him. "Stop it…" Sonic growled from behind his gritted teeth, beginning to lose the already tenuous grasp he had on his sanity.

Guy Fieri swung his battle axe with a savage growl, parting the waves of Communist soldiers from before his beady gaze. He skewered hundreds of Marxists with his bare fists, impaling their faces upon his meaty, tattooed arms. He darted across the raging battlefield, transforming his grief over the death of Honest Abe into righteous fuckanger to slay the shit out of his baseborn foes.

Mac Tonight forced the barrel of his shotgun down Lebron James's throat and blew out the back of his skull without mercy. "S-Sonic…" RZA turned his head, taking a final look into the distant eyes of his brother in arms. Ol' Dirty Bastard took his Wu-Tang ally by the wrist, despondently shaking his head. He took a deep breath, "I'm sorry, pardner. Tha Sonic we knew is long gone. Now, tha only person who can snap 'im outta this darkness is himself. I know it's hard, but we cain't do a damn thing but watch his descent…"

 _"...STOP IT!"_ Sonic concentrated all of his strength and willpower to prevent his mind from fully slipping into Hitler's noisome control. The hedgehog was rendered helpless, forced to watch as the soldiers of Adam Sandler viciously slayed his blameless kinsmen.

Ronald McDonald balled both of his six-fingered hands into fists and began to pound the craggy terrain of Hell. Dozens of Americans were crushed and splattered upon the earth, buried within impact craters that stretched for miles wide.

Standing alongside Guy Fieri, Garfield fended off the fuckling hordes with his alligator-nunchuks. "...You truly care about her, don't you?" Fieri pivoted his head, watching as the obese man-feline instinctively formed a defensive perimeter around the dismantled android. This righteous warrior of gentlemanly patriotism dug his serrated machete into the mouth of _Officer Big Mac,_ hewing off his forked tongue with little effort. Guy Fieri smiled warmly, taking his silence as confirmation.

"In that case, you've got to run. Without Lincoln, you and Anne are the only original members of the Biker Brethren left. To keep their memory alive, you have to survive!" Guy Fieri spoke from behind his gritted teeth. This culinary warmaster wildly swung his twin battle axes in all directions, fending off innumerable thousands of Commie soldiers. "Get out of here, I can fend them off! _RUN!"_

 _"Guy Fieri, you goddamn liar…"_ Garfield took one, final look back as he drove off astride his chopper. He choked back tears as his righteous compatriot was voraciously devoured by the host of the McDemons, his body rended apart into hundreds of fleshy hunks of tattooed meat.

"Is this where the blood drenched journey of the Biker Brethren comes to an end? What did we do to deserve _this?_ We defeated Communism and the Americaverse was saved! Was our sacrifice truly worthless? Is this endless suffering simply the true meaning of American life? I refuse to accept that, not after the shit we've been through!" Garfield slammed his foot on the pedals, ramming at full speed into the Marxist armies. The Wu-Tang Clan joined Garfield in his final patriotic onslaught. They stood by his side, all firing their thirty-six chambered miniguns into the advancing crowd.

Mac Tonight trained his sniper rifle upon the brazen-furred American's Harley, preparing to clamp down on the trigger and take his shot. _"FUSION-HA!"_ Ghostface Killah and Ol' Dirty Bastard pressed their index fingers together and merged, putting aside their rivalry to face the task at hand. The two sweaty rappers had fused, becoming an unstoppable warrior of untold shitagression known as _"Ghostface Bastard."_

The Shaolin warmaster pulled back his fist, socking this wretched moon daemon in the jaw and throwing off his shot. His bullet pierced the front tire of Garfield's motorbike, sending him and his companion flying like rag dolls across the battlefield. The portly feline unsheathed his chainsaw-guitar, using it to deflect the onslaught of stray bullets that flew across the bloodied terrain.

He knelt down upon the ashen earth, diligently working to repair his android compatriot with what few tools he had to work with. Anne Frank slowly opened her eyes as Garfield reattached her head, welding it to her body with pyrokinesis. She reeled back in shock, mortified at the godless carnage that washed over her senses. She trembled, "G-Garfield? What are you doing? We have to go back! We can't leave our friends all alone like this!"

The burly biker quickly turned his head, hiding his bitter tears and feigning bravery. "That's what I intend to do, but you can't come with me. This is my burden to bear alone, lass. I heard everything from Michael Jordan: in Nixon's alternate future, my cowardice is what saved me during that second Ameripocalypse. Well, that's not happening again! I have a debt to repay to Lincoln, The Rock, Fieri, and everyone else. I'm not running away again! It's about damn time to step out of Jon Arbuckle's shadow and become the American I was destined to be!" Garfield reached out his pudgy digits with a smile, wiping away the tears trickling down Anne Frank's face.

 _"G-Garfield…"_ She whimpered in response. Hundreds of Cultural Marxists gathered around Garfield, preparing to overwhelm him with their ever-growing numbers. The cat hunched down and roared, and his muscles began to stiffen and bulge to triple their original size.

Right before the cutlass of _Captain Crook_ could meet his face, Garzooka plunged his fist down his enemy's throat and yanked out his spine. Garzooka wrapped the bloody spinal column around his neck, using it as a necklace to strike fear into the hearts of his philistine foes. He forced a laugh, "God, I really hate Mondays!"

Garzooka's patriotic gusto sent an inescapable feeling of primal fear into his enemies. The feline swaggered forth, valiantly swinging his alligator-nunchuks over his head. "Y'all gon' make me lose my mind up in here, up in here! Y'all gon' make me go all out up in here, up in here! Y'all gon' make me act a _FOOL_ up in here, up in here!" The feline rocked out with the horrorcore of the gods as he ambled ahead, carving the sodomous followers of Adam Sandler asunder.

"You whack, you're twisted, your girl's a hoe! You're broke, the kid ain't yours, and e'rybody know! Your old man say you stupid, you be like: _So? I love my baby momma, I never let her go!"_ Garzooka heartily guffawed as he swung his blade, standing still and unflinching in this wasteland of tension. He stood completely alone, being the last American still alive and able to fight.

Adam Sandler cupped his chin and observed Garfield's hopeless struggle from a safe distance. As much as Sandler hated to say such a thing about an American, even he was amazed by this star-spangled feline's resolve and raging fuckferocity. He moistened his lips with his forked tongue, "I believe we've found the perfect candidates, my daemonic brethren. With their lives in the balance, Sonic the Hedgehog will be completely loyal to our cause. Bring them to me!"

"Y-You bastard…" Obama laid face down upon the earth. His spirit was completely fractured and broken, and he no longer possessed the willpower to continue living after the damnable atrocities he had committed.

Garzooka dove in for the kill with a somersault, splitting the head of the Grimace wide open with Lincoln's Communist-Slayer. Mac Tonight lowered his tinted sunglasses and grinned, training the barrel of his shotgun upon Garfield from a safe distance.

The churlish McDemon emptied every one of his remaining rounds into Garfield's rotund body, blowing a gaping hole through his torso with buckshot. The feline rolled upon the ground in agony, using his hands to stifle the constant flow of blood streaming from his abdomen.

"Damn… that Commie bastard used anticoagulant bullets! As long as these things are in me, the wounds won't stop bleeding. If I don't get this treated, I'm not going to live much longer!" Garfield winced with pain, using a boulder as leverage as he attempted to stand. He let out a shout of pain and stumbled forward, collapsing back to the ground. "Fuck, not now! I can't lose consciousness here, my friends need me!" He struggled, gasping for air.

"I'm comin' straight from the glorious kingdom of Whitetopia. Did you spics n' niggers think you could stop the _Grand Wizard of the KKK?"_ The demented lunar incarnate cackled as he paced around the wounded Garfield. Mac Tonight beamed wide as he bent down, using his Linoleum knife to pluck out the patriot's right eyeball for no other reason than sheer spite. The cat convulsed with pain, nursing the gaping cavity emblazoned upon his face.

"That's quite enough!" Sandler boomed from a distance, catching a ride down from the zenith of his tower of corpses upon Ronald McDonald's opened hand. He reached out his good arm, pointing his knurled fingers in Sonic's direction.

"...Now, I'm not as cruel as I may seem. You must understand — I still have a heart. So I'm giving you a choice, American: you pledge your loyalty to me and your friends live, or you turn me away and you all perish. What will it be?" Sandler questioned, pacing in circles around his patriotic adversary.

After a long silence, the hedgehog parted his chapped lips and began to speak. "I've made my choice…" Sonic spoke in an almost inhuman, guttural tone of voice. A chill shot down Adam Sandler's spine, freezing him in place. The son of Marx raised an eyebrow, and against his better judgement he decided not to back down while he still could, "And what would that be?"

Sonic took a step closer and whispered into his ear, _"I'm going to sodomize your fucking asshole with a chainsaw, Adam Sandler."_

Overcome with rage, Sandler threw himself upon the patriotic hedgehog. Sonic boldly raised his arm, performing a Sieg Heil. The hedgehog thrust his brass knuckles into Sandler's gut, rupturing every organ in his body and lobbing him thousands of feet into the air. Adam Sandler's lip quivered with terror, "...I was right. He really is an Übermensch! No, much more than that. His power is now equal to that of a physical GOD!"

Upon his descent, Adam Sandler began to realize how costly his lapse in judgement truly was. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow as he helplessly fell through the cloud cover, "W-What have I done? For the sake of the Communist people, he has to be stopped here and now! He cannot be allowed to leave this place alive! _Adolf Hitler has been reborn in the flesh!"_

Adolf Hitler the Hedgehog swung his meaty hands, shattering both of his opponent's kneecaps with little effort. Hitler then burgeoned forth with a shout, leaping thousands of feet into the red sky with a single bound. He drew back his flaming fist as he descended, caving in Adam Sandler's skull with surgical precision and leaving behind a massive dent on his forehead.

 _"Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Führer!"_ Hitler tore his belt asunder, allowing his tattered blue jeans to fall around his ankles. His sphincter puckered with indignation, and his cybernetic, multi-chambered, crotch-mounted gun-dick of flaming death rose to half-mast.

The fuckfurious hedgehog straddled his artificial cock tightly and passionately, preparing to unleash his satanic load. Without even a millisecond's time to prepare himself mentally or physically, Adam Sandler was bombarded by his relentless salvo. His body was instantly blown to pieces as the hedgehog discharged his nuclear payload an innumerable amount of times, murderizing the fuck out of him.

Sinking deeply into the cold embrace of death, Adam Sandler felt no fear, despite his situation being akin to walking unarmed into a three-headed sasquatch's den. Rather, he was relieved.

He managed a tremulous smile as he stared his executioner right in the face, "I'm… _I'm so glad._ To attain this unrivaled strength, that American was forced to sacrifice all he was. He gave up his sanity and will just to destroy me! After I am gone, he shall carry on the spirit of Marxism as a mindless puppet of destruction. For crushing my dreams of a Communist utopia where all my people could live in harmony, the Americans will suffer an endless death by the hands of their own ally! The spirit of my vengeance and hate shall follow their race like a dark cloud for all of eternity. It will hunt those filthy, bourgeois patriots to extinction!"

Sandler rested his face upon the dirt and managed a weak, hoarse laugh, "If my death is what it takes to bring justice to each and every one of my people unjustly murdered by Capitalist, freedom-loving scum, so be it. Are you at peace now, mother? All of this... _I did it all for you..."_

With one final, galaxy shattering blast, Adam Sandler's turkey neck was severed in two and his head was blown from his body. Hitler crushed his already ravaged foe's skull under his boot, putting an end to his pitiable existence. The members of the alliance raised their electric guitars to the sky and cried out in joyous song, celebrating their freedom from the clutches of the cult of Happy Madison.

"You saved our lives, O' patriotic warlord! Please, if there's anything we can do for you, just say it. For your actions today, we're eternally indebted to you!" Paul Blart wiped the tears of joy from his eyes as he spoke. He fell upon his face, prostrating himself before the patriotic might of his hedgehogian savior.

Without warning, the raging patriot unsheathed his flesh choked axe-guitar. He swung his flaming blade of Damascus steel with little effort, holding it high and lunging forward. Hitler split open Paul Blart's face without mercy, skewering his body upon the frostbitten earth and shocking all with his savagery.

RZA and his kinsmen stood agape at the hedgehog's unending brutality. They watched in silent horror as Adolf Hitler knelt down, proceeding to devour the downed American's entrails and defile his corpse.

"...I had worried this would happen, lass. Now that he's begun to walk this dark path, his rage will never be quenched. With Adam Sandler gone, he's now using his servants as an outlet for his anger. After they're dead, he'll murder each of us. And soon, he'll set his sights on the Americaverse itself! _Richard Nixon's future is happening again!"_ Garfield quivered with terror, turning his gaze away as the Nazi warlord bisected the Burger King right down the middle and headed straight for the rest of the alliance.

The surviving host of the McDemons hoisted Sandler's ruined body into the air. The McDemonic clergy stretched out their arms as they circled around him in midair, offering their own lives as a sacrifice to breathe new life into him. Ronald McDonald plunged his hand into his own chest, removing his still-beating heart and resting it upon the Communist's bullet ridden stomach as a sacrifice of blood.

"Rise again, O' blessed McKing! Our hopes and dreams survive now only within you. You art the instrument of the new beginning, the cradle of life in which the universe shall be reborn anew! Spread your heavenly wings and bless this forsaken Americaverse with your divine vision, ye' blessed child of causality!" After Ronald uttered his final words, he and his kinsmen plummeted to the earth beneath. They shattered as they hit the ground, all broken down to the very last building blocks of life and reduced to dust.

Surrounded by the glow of a seraph, a pair of ivory wings sprouted from Adam Sandler's charred, completely unrecognizable corpse. His ruined, headless body stood, transformed by the blood offering of the McDemons into a mindless instrument of Communist vengeance. Adam Sandler's devotion to the cause in which he deemed holy was so great that, even after death, his resolve and strength only grew stronger.

Still leaking blood from every orifice in his body, the corpse puppet of Adam Sandler spread his angelic wings and threw himself upon the unprepared hedgehog. With a sickening snap, Sonic's legendary gun-dick was severed from his body and sent flying by Adam Sandler's filthy hands.

 _"SONIC!"_ At the last possible moment, Anne Frank darted ahead and shoved the possessed hedgehog backwards, saving him from being decapitated by Sandler's second lunge. A spray of blood erupted from his crotch, watering the ground with Sonic's fleeting lifeforce.

Anne Frank pivoted her head to her gravely wounded ally. However, no long reflected upon him was the noisome face of Adolf Hitler. Rather, in his final moments of life, Sonic the Hedgehog returned to his star-spangled senses. The trembling girl cautiously stepped forwards. Unable to hold back her feelings any longer, she buried her face in Sonic's untrimmed, battle scarred chest and began to weep.

Before Adam Sandler could regain his wits and strike again, Anne Frank heard Sonic speak in a low, hoarse voice. _"It's okay, Anne. It really is. Y'know, it's actually kinda nice. This pain… it reminds me that I'm still me. In a small way, I feel like this makes up for my constant weakness. I finally get to feel how Abe Lincoln, Charles Barkley, Michael Jordan, and everyone else did when I failed to save them. I feel redeemed, like a huge weight has finally been lifted from me…"_ The hedgehog turned his head, watching as Sandler's corpse prepared to leap again in pursuit of his prey.

Large, glowing cracks began to appear upon Sonic's skin, running all along his brazen flesh. The hedgehog winced and covered up his gaping wounds with his hands, hiding the massive damage done to his patriotic vessel while Adolf Hitler was in control of his body.

"Sonic, don't!" Anne Frank reached out her arm, attempting to stop him as he fearlessly swaggered towards his undead challenger. She stretched her arm outwards and caught him by the wrist, "Sonic, this has to stop! You're falling apart as we speak, exerting your body again will kill you! As long as we're still alive, Lincoln and the Biker Brethren will never truly be gone! But, if you continue fighting, _you'll die…"_

 _"I'm sorry, Anne. You'll just have to continue without me. This is just the way it has to be. In honor of their memory, I'm going to rock the fuck out one last time…"_ Sonic turned his head and spoke his final goodbyes, tearfully saluting his patriotic brethren. He knelt down, lifting up the remains of his weaponized gun-cock and soaring thousands of feet into the air.

The raging hedgehog descended from the sky in a ball of holy astral fuckfire. With a throaty black metal screech, he clamped his finger down upon the trigger of his severed gun-dick and blew a hole right through Adam Sandler's stomach. The gaping cavity in Sandler's neck wheezed with a disembodied growl, beginning to convulse and violently spew out his own black, ink-like blood.

Sonic keeled over and opened his nostrils, letting the foul scent of rot emanating from his corpse flood his senses. "You stink like fuckin' shit, Sandler. Yeah, you're going to hell with me," Sonic mused with a casual smile. He emptied both of his pockets and placed his entire stock of C-4 explosives at his feet, preparing to detonate both himself and his enemy.

In the final moments of Sonic's the Hedgehog's life, Method Woman's final prophecy came to pass. The patriotic warlord turned his head, and in that moment he was rendered speechless as he hearkened upon the distant voice of a long dead friend. _"...Father, STOP!"_

 _ **"Hearken upon my warning, Sonic the Hedgehog: if you travel to Wolfsschanze, you will find exactly who you've been dreaming of…"**_

"No… it can't be! This isn't impossible! _Y-You are-!"_ Staring down upon the battlefield from afar was Sonic's adopted son, the sole heir of Michael Jordan: _Charles Barkley._ Sonic loosened his grip on Adam Sandler's battered body, letting him fall to the dirt. The hedgehog bolted ahead, charging as fast as his legs could carry him towards the heavenly baller. Barkley managed a forced smile, parting his arms and meeting Sonic's loving embrace.

 _ **"...And then, you will die."**_

 _"B-Barkley…"_ Sonic collapsed to the ground, gagging on the blood spurting down his chin and staining his stylish motorcycle jacket. With a merciless slam dunk, Charles Darkley impaled Sonic the Hedgehog through his torso with a Spalding basketball.

The daemonic baller fell upon one knee, using his swart fingers to lift Sonic's chin and meet his fiery gaze. He spoke in an emotionless tone of voice, "I came here to find answers, Sonic. Your death is nothing personal. I wanted to know that, after everything I've done to distance myself from _him,_ if my heart would be shaken by you. By my sentimentality for the life of my past self who is long dead. Now, I know the answer…"

He leaned closer, whispering into the gravely wounded American's ear, "I am finally free of you, Sonic the Hedgehog." Despite the betrayal of his closest friend, Sonic felt no grief or anger. Rather, he smiled and embraced his son tighter than ever before, "I knew I would see you again, Barkley. Somewhere, somehow, I knew. I don't give a damn about what those Commie bastards made you into. Even with my last breath, being by your side in my final moments is enough for me. _This is all I ever really wanted, son…"_

 ** _"God bless America…"_** With his final words, the American's body limply slid down Darkley's torso and collapsed to the ash-covered earth. _At the age of seven hundred and fifty, Sonic the Hedgehog had perished._

In the shade of the morning sky, Charles Darkley felt tiny, wretched, and powerless. Deep down, a small part of him had broken, weeping bitterly for the death of his adoptive father. Somehow, as the sun rose over the horizon and illuminated Sonic's blood splattered body, his brutally scarred corpse appeared both solemn and beautiful.

A content smile was plastered upon his face, and the hedgehog looked more at peace than he had ever been in his short time living. He died as he had lived: _**metal as fuck.**_

 _"S-Sonic…"_ Anne Frank broke down, beginning to bawl like a child over the death of her beloved compatriot. RZA stiffened his back, standing tall and rigid as he choked back his tears. He removed his stocking hat, clutching it tightly against his chest, "The joy the flowers bring me, the pain still has me sinking. All while my heart gently weeps…"

Garfield pivoted his gaze behind him. He stood aghast, mortified to see that Adam Sandler's body had disappeared without a trace. "Where the hell did he go? All of the McDemons are already dead, he couldn't have just vanished!" Garfield began to panic. He scrambled across the smouldering ruins, sifting through the wreckage in search of the son of Marx.

"He hasn't gone anywhere. Rather, he's with us right now…" Method Woman orated in a shaky tone of voice. She turned her head to the bloody sky, "To make a deal with a Communist, one must always offer something of equal value in return. My father sacrificed his life. Barack Obama sacrificed the life of Dwayne Johnson. Lastly, Adam Sandler made the largest offering of all: _he chose to sacrifice the entire Americaverse."_

The survivors of Sandler's onslaught lifted their chins to the skies above. In that instant, they immediately became frozen with terror at the godless sight they beheld in the stars. Barack Obama balled himself into a fetal position. He shook with terror, too mortified to make even the slightest movement, "You were right. He's with us right now. No, that doesn't even begin to describe it. He is _EVERYWHERE!"_

Adam Sandler gazed down upon the tiny, ruined planet of Wolfsschanze from orbit. His celestial vessel had transformed, becoming infinitely vaster than the size of the entire Americaverse itself. He reached out his arms, cupping all of the patriotic galaxies and their myriad worlds and star clusters in the palms of his hands. The powers of the McDemons had finally awoken within him, and even after death, Adam Sandler had become a god.

Before Sandler could crush the patriotic universe in his sweaty hands, a single guitar pierced its way through the fabric of reality itself. With a downwards stroke of the blade, this fissure opened wide enough for its creator to force his way through. It was _**Richard Nixon**! _

Tricky Dick descended through the stars, straddling his Harley and rocking out to Norwegian speed metal. He swept down and reached out his arm, retrieving the legendary Communist-Slayer from a pile of rubble on Wolfsschanze's surface. Garfield stood at a loss for words, "R-Richard Nixon, senpai! But, you were killed during the fight with Hitler! How did you come back?"

Nixon guffawed with righteous laughter as he tore his shirt asunder, freeing his impossibly statuesque abs from the latex jacket that bound them. _"I'm Richard motherfucking Nixon, that's how!_ Paul Blart told me about Adam Sandler's true nature before I departed to fight the Biker Brethren, confirming what I had always suspected about him. So, I came up with a plan: I was going to fake my death, giving me the perfect opportunity to stop his twisted dream for Communism! Unfortunately, it took longer for my wounds to recover than I expected. If only I could have come a few minutes sooner…" Dick spoke in a morose tone of voice.

He dismounted from his motorcycle, coming to rest his hand upon the lifeless body of his father. "Now, the only thing we can do is fight to honor the memory of our fallen comrades. You hear me, Adam Sandler? I'm going to drive my flaming fist of freedom right up your ugly ass!" Richard Nixon mounted his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle and slammed his foot on the pedals, breaking the sound barrier as he headed straight for the center of the Americaverse.

Nixon gracefully swung the blade of his forefathers, severing the barriers of space and time and cleaving open a subspace rift leading right to this monolithic elder god's location. Nixon drew back his guitar, and it glistened with the menstrual blood of Hell's angels and shone bright with the imperishable flames of Washington-sama's grace.

 _"I am not a goddamn crook!_ _ **GOD BLESS AMERICA**!" _ Tricky Dick wedged his guitar into the sun, sticking it upon the tip of this blade of obsidian steel. Without mercy, Nixon drove the Communist-Slayer into Adam Sandler's heart, using the flaming star at the fag-end of this righteous instrument to burn a hole straight through his immeasurably vast vessel.

A sickening laugh erupted from the cloven stump where Adam Sandler's head once sat, "I have waited for you, heir of Sonic the Hedgehog. With this limitless power I now possess, I see all of what has been and what is to come. Causality has been brought to fruition by your appearance in this distant plane, Richard Nixon! You have played right into my hands!"

Adam Sandler's body began to split in two, with a single, vertical crack running from his heart to the top and bottom of his body. The gap caved inwards like a door, emitting a blinding light that shone all throughout the vastness of the Americaverse, bathing the earth with its otherworldly luminescence.

"The prophecy of the McDemons has finally been fulfilled. Washington's hallowed blade has drawn the blood of a supreme being, piercing deep within the astral plane contained within me. My Communist energy shall be dispersed throughout time and space by my ruptured body in a glorious supernovae, shrouding the Americaverse and transforming it into the utopia I've dreamt of for so many a year. _**The rebirth of the world has begun!**_ _"_ Adam Sandler's body erupted in fire, spreading his Communist seed to every corner of existence. The light expanded, illuminating every inch of the Americaverse with his wretched life force.

"W-What is this energy? It's everywhere!" Garfield questioned in a shaky tone. He cried out in agony as he stretched his arm into the light, feeling it burn away at his flesh upon contact.

"I know this feeling. This is raw Communism condensed into its purest state! I'd hate to see what this will do to the rest of the patriotverse. Forsooth, it could bring about the extinction of the entire American race! And there's no telling what will happen to the Communists remaining, lads. This ungodly power could rewrite reality itself..." Garfield slowly backed away, still trembling with fear.

"This too was preordained. The cycle of death and rebirth that defines the Americaverse has finally come again. A new era is about to begin, and an age of darkness shall dawn. The vastness of Communism shall drive away the forces of patriotism, just as darkness drives away light. Mortal men shall call it thus: _Americageddon._ The end of the world as we know it has arrived," Method Woman spoke in a grim tone, foreboding the dark ages that were soon to fall.

Richard Nixon swept down astride his Harley and hoisted up the lifeless body of his father. He sliced a hole in reality using the Communist-Slayer and shouted over the clamor, "Everyone, follow me! The battle… _the battle is lost._ The Biker Brethren have been destroyed. The final war may be over, but our fight has only just begun."

 _My name is Sonic the Hedgehog. The year is 2004, and these were the final days of the United States of America. This is the year when everything changed. This is the year when I died and the Biker Brethren were destroyed._

 _The age of darkness was about to descend. Communism, patriotism. Slavery, freedom. Dreams, reality. Hatred, love. The dead, the living. Evil, righteousness. An age where all dark things shall come to eclipse the light, as sure as when the moon eclipses the sun._

 _ **The Age of Communism is about to begin...**_


	39. A Good Hedgehog Goes to War

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA FINALE - THE LAST CHAPTER**

 **PART 3 OF 4 - "A Good Hedgehog Goes to War"**

* * *

Sonic crinkled his eyes. A blinding light flooded over his senses as he awoke, dazing him. His vision soon cleared, and the patriotic hedgehog found himself surrounded by a white haze that seemed to stretch on for miles. He strained his eyes, catching a faint shape of what appeared to be the _Biker Brethren_ in the distance.

 _"A-Abe Lincoln?_ Where are you going, everyone? Wait for me!" Sonic questioned in a frantic tone of voice, puzzled by their behavior. He began to run, pursuing these pious bikers as they sped off atop their metallic mounts. Lincoln and the mighty patriots that trailed behind him maintained their unwavering gaze, staring directly ahead and ignoring Sonic's desperate calls.

The faster Sonic ran, the farther the Biker Brethren seemed to move away from him. He slowed his pace, tarrying for a brief moment to catch his breath. After a few seconds, his star-spangled kinspeople moved entirely out of range. They had vanished, driving off into the white mist that surrounded this distant plane and never looking back. _"NO! Everyone, turn back! Don't leave me here by myself! Don't go!"_

"It pains me to ask this question, but are you sure that you want to bring him back to life, brother-man? That darkness still dwells inside of his heart. We were lucky before, but next time we may not be so fortunate. If he loses his mind again, it could mean the death of us all," RZA quirked an eyebrow as he turned to Richard Nixon. Tricky Dick fell upon one knee, unzipping the body bag that contained the corpse of his father.

The American let out a small laugh, "Such a grim turn of events is possible, I suppose. I'm still trying to absorb that my own father was the one who destroyed my timeline. But, if there's anything that I've learned on my journey, it's that I'm not a god. I have no right to choose who dies, even if I have the best of intentions. If anyone deserves a second chance at life, it's Sonic. If the cost for bringing this righteous American back is the life of a pathetic man like myself, I'd say that's a bargain!" Nixon rested his knurled hands over Sonic's body, beginning to transfer his life energy into the hedgehog's broken vessel.

"Y'know, it's kinda funny. In my world, the only survivors in the end were Sonic, Garfield, and Anne Frank. Just like what happened in this timeline. Maybe this was also predestined?" Richard Nixon mused with a mirthless smile, trying to lighten the mood. Method Woman lowered her head and answered, _"All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again."_

Sonic's eyes slowly fluttered open. The hedgehog bolted upright, gasping for air. Nixon thinly smiled at the sight of his revived father. He suddenly keeled over with pain, coming to realize that the deterioration of his own body had already begun. To save Sonic's life, Richard Nixon had performed the ultimate sacrifice, giving up his own in exchange.

The hedgehog cocked his head to the side. He watched as Tricky Dick clumsily sauntered towards his motorcycle, preparing to disembark. "I won't see you again, O' patriotic hedgehog. Fighting by your side has truly been an honor. You can promise that you won't forget me, right?" Nixon spoke with his head turned away from his father, hiding his tears.

Sonic nodded his head, "Sure thing, crunkenstein. You… you take care of yourself, ya hear me? From what I can tell, it seems like you really saved all of our asses back there. Try not to get killed n' shit, alright?"

Nixon smiled warmly and lowered his head. Without speaking, he soared off into the infinite blackness of the Americaverse riding astride his Harley Davidson motorcycle. Sonic shot RZA a concerned look, "What's with everyone? You guys all seem like you have a huge stick up your asses or some shit. What happened while I was out? To be perfectly honest, I can't remember shit from yesterday. Even less than usual, actually."

RZA turned his head and linked his fingers together. His partner's refusal to speak began to worry the hedgehog far more than he would let on. Sonic reached out his hands, tearing off the thick layer of bloodied gauze that covered the majority of his body. He charged forwards at an electric pace, searching through the Americans' temporary camp where they had bivouacked for the night.

Sonic flagrantly swore under his breath as several of his wounds reopened, streaming blood down his torso. The hedgehog rested his hands on his knees and panted, "Alright, somebody is going to give me some fuckin' answers or I'm gonna shoot this place up! Where the hell is everyone? Where's Abraham Lincoln? Where's Guy Fieri? Where's Barack Obama? Where's Dwayne Johnson? Bloody shit, I don't even see Winnie the Pooh! What the fuck happened while I was out? _TELL ME!"_

 _"S-Sonic…"_ Anne Frank stood from her wheelchair, fixing her gaze on Sonic as he began to carve his way through their tents with a chainsaw. Garfield reached out his arm and shook his head, cutting her off before she could speak.

"Settle down, lass. You've been through enough trauma as it is. I'll be the one to break the news to him, even if its means incurring his wrath," Garfield spoke coolly, patting her shoulder. Though, after experiencing Sonic's limitless anger first-hand, the rotund man-cat would be lying if he said he wasn't completely terrified at the prospect of telling the truth to him.

Garfield took a deep breath as he met the hedgehog's fiery gaze. _"They're all dead, Sonic._ Every last one of them. They were brutally slain in battle by the enemy. You, Anne Frank, and I are all that remain of the Biker Brethren. We fought Communism, and Communism won," Garfield lowered his chin, slowly shaking his head.

Sonic fell upon one knee and retched. Unable to hold his grief any longer, Sonic began to violently hurl chunks of blood, Pocky, and cartilage. He snarled, "...Explain this shit to me, Garfield. Just how the hell did Communism win? Depending on your answer, _I may have to kick your goddamn ass!"_

The portly cat paused to readjust his eye patch, "This is not the Americaverse you know any longer, Sonic. Adam Sandler sacrificed himself to recreate reality itself. This is now a world of Communism, where the various Marxist empires have always been the dominant forces in history. Nothing makes sense anymore, to be truthful. Justice no longer prevails. Darkness has overcome the light. We live in an age of _Americageddon."_

Sonic began to beat his fists upon the frostbitten earth, pounding them against the ground until his knuckles grew red with blood. He shot Garfield a murderous glare, _"You dirty, motherfucking LIAR!"_

Garfield sighed, "That's not all, Sonic. You also have med-resistant AIDs. At best, I'd say you only have a few years left to live. I'm so sorry, lad…" Gone was Sonic's murderous fuckfury as he heard Garfield continue to tearfully apologize for what had transpired that fateful night. Rather, the hedgehog became despondent and introspective as the hopelessness of this turn of events began to sink in. "I… I see. Thank you for not holding anything back, Garfield. If you'll excuse me, I need some time to be alone…"

Desperate to run away from the harsh truth, Sonic dashed through the forest as fast as his feet could carry him. Acid rain began to pour down as the land was benighted, washing away the tears and viscid blood that trickled down the hedgehog's well toned body. Unable to clearly see where he was going, Sonic tripped over an exposed root and tumbled down the face of a cliff.

As he reached the bottom, Sonic's battered body was propelled into a nearby lake. His blood pooled into the murky water that he stood knee-deep in, dying it a deep shade of red. With a loud, unrestrained shout, Sonic began to wildly flail about his signature axe-guitar.

Its blade snapped as it collided with a nearby rock. The instrument was split into several large pieces, and each of them were soon swept away by the water's current. Sonic held his face in the palm of his hand, bitterly weeping as the memories of his companions began to fill his cocaine-addled mind.

"Abraham Lincoln is dead…"

 _Honest Abe spoke with a wise and fair voice, his gleaming eyes seemingly peering into Sonic's soul. "Stand with your chin held high and still as stone, Sonic of the clan Hedgehog. You are a descendant of Washington! You bow to no man."_

"Michael Jordan is dead…"

 _Jordan warmly smiled, patting his hedgehog brother on the back. He chuckled, "You see Sonic, this is why we're really here. Not for the thrill of rocking the fuck out, nor for the intense pleasure of Communist blood trickling down our loins. It's to make some good out of the dirty, nasty, unbelievable lifestyle fate has handed us. I believe in a world free from Communist oppression, and I believe that ideal is worth fighting for until my star-spangled blood runs dry!"_

"Charles Barkley is dead..."

 _Sonic swiftly nabbed Barkley's basketball as he charged across the court, participating in the honorable ritual of 'B-Ball' with his adoptive son. After the game, these two sweaty patriots collapsed in a fleshy heap of sweat upon the maple floors of the Jefferson Starship's basketball court. "The only difference between a good shot and a bad shot is if it goes in or not. Well, that's what my dad always told me, at least," Charles Barkley teased with a smile._

"Everyone… every last one of them is _gone..."_

 _Dwayne Johnson transmuted both of his arms into stone and wrestled Sonic to the ground with his heightened strength, "Young master, we've all talked this over, and we've come to the conclusion that we cannot allow you to slay this man in cold blood. We've all had our fill of senseless death, too much for any one lifetime. We will not get in your way of taking his life if you see such a thing as being just, but first we want you to hear what he has to say. Hearken upon his words and evaluate your decision!"_

 _"You don't have to eat the whole cheeseburger. Just take a piece of the cheeseburger," Guy Fieri spoke with a smile. Sonic shot the professional chef a hostile glare, "Shut the fuck up, asshole. What are you doing here, anyway? Can't I eat my goddamn food, listen to Norwegian speed metal, and watch shemale porn in peace?"_

 _Barack Obama smiled, rushing to greet Sonic and his allies, "Sonic the Hedgehog, my old friend! I never expected that I'd see you here. How are the Biker Brethren doing?" Sonic raised an eyebrow, currently blazed out of his mind, "How did you get here? Am I just trippin' again, or weren't you decked the fuck out by Kevin James?"_

 _"Don't forget, stars and stripes! Next time we meet, we're going to settle the score. Train hard, because I swear on my honor as a Communist that I'm not going to lose against you again!" Winnie the Pooh challenged. "I'll be waiting, ye' foul Communist!" Sonic cockily grinned._

The hedgehog heaved his broken body to the edge of a cliff. Full of grief, Sonic raised both of his arms to the sky and screamed at the wind.

 ** _"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"_**

"Sonic… where are you going?" Anne Frank asked in a tremulous voice. This hedgehogian tsarevich donned his coat of mail and sharpened the legendary Communist-Slayer by the light of the open fire. He inserted his throwing knives into the sleeves of his baldric and hoisted it upwards, strapping this leather assembly over his left arm and around his torso. He pushed his hands through the sleeves of his biker jacket, wrapping it tightly around his waist. He draped a tattered American flag over his spine covered back, using it as a makeshift cloak.

Lastly, he buckled his obsidian-plated pauldrons to his shoulders and inserted the hallowed guitar of George Washington into its sheath. His hair blew wildly in the wind as he confidently swaggered out of the tent, trudging out into the grey and cold morning. "I'm going to do what I'm best at, Anne. _I've got some goddamn Communists to slay..."_

RZA and the Wu-Tang Clan gathered their supplies and saluted the hedgehog as he departed. The emperor of the Wu-People fell upon one knee and bowed before Garfield, "We will take our leave as well, my American friends. We'll never forget this journey and all that you did for us, brother. It's now time for me and my kinsmen to return to our journey of defeating the Juggalos and liberating our people. Maybe we'll see you again one day, somewhere down the line. But for now, it's time for us to part ways."

After their allies had departed, Garfield turned his head towards Anne. "...The child is his, isn't it?" He questioned in a low voice. Anne Frank's eyes widened in surprise, "How did you figure it out? I haven't told anyone that I was pregnant yet…"

The girthy man-cat smiled, "When you get to be an old ass nigga like I am, it's easy to tell these things. I knew simply by the way you looked at him as he left, and how desperate you were to save him during Adam Sandler's attack. So, have you thought of a name for the baby?"

She smiled, resting her hands upon her stomach, "I'm going to name him _Richard Nixon,_ after one of the bravest men I've ever met. If it's a girl, I would still name her Richard Nixon. But now, I'm not sure if I'm ever going to see him again. Sonic may never know what he's about to leave behind, and if he continues down this dark path, his personal war on all of Communism will surely kill him…"

* * *

 ** _"Garfield… this is what you wanted, right? This is my promise I made to you..."_**

 _The love of Richard Nixon, death without assassination_

 _The love of Richard Nixon. Yeah, they all betrayed you_

 _People forget China and your war on cancer_

 _Yeah, they all betrayed you_

 _Yeah, and your country too..._

 _\- Excerpt from "The Love of Richard Nixon" by Manic Street Preachers_

 **This chapter is dedicated to Richard Milhous Nixon, a brave time traveler from the future who gave everything he had to save us all from damnation. May he rest in peace.**

 **RICHARD M. NIXON 1913 - 2004**


	40. Stars and Stripes Forever

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA FINALE - THE LAST CHAPTER**

 **PART 4 OF 4 - "Stars and Stripes Forever"**

* * *

George Costanza swung his hammer against the anvil at his feet, tempering a slab of red-hot steel. Sonic watched from a distance, admiring the sparks produced as metal clashed against metal. Truly, this was a righteous symbol of man's dominance over the forces of nature. Costanza dunked the crude killing machine he had forged into water, cooling it over a period of several hours.

Lastly, the diligent blacksmith took out his airbrush, beginning to paint a crude portrait of a headless woman riding a dinosaur that was engulfed by blue flames. The hedgehog nodded his head, admiring his craftsmanship and attention to detail. Sonic the Hedgehog dropped his blue jeans and lifted up his newly forged gun-cock, of which he christened _"The Judgement Dick."_

Sonic instinctively swung around his crotch-mounted cannon as he heard the sound of laughter coming from around the corner. Emerging from the darkness was none other than _Donald Trump,_ an old enemy of the Biker Brethren.

He ran his hands through his golden mane and grinned, "So, I hear that you're going defeat the forces of Communism by yourself, right? Sounds like a suicide mission to me. However, it doesn't have to be that way. I've scoured the galaxy in search of your righteous thirst for blood, of someone who possesses the same unquenchable thirst as I! How about we work together, choir boy? You could use the help, I imagine."

Sonic puckered his brow, "Wait, didn't you get killed or some shit? Either way, I don't need any help from a red bastard like yourself! Fuck off already..."

Trump tipped his velour fedora and smirked, "I did perish, actually. However, after the rebirth of the Americaverse, I found myself mysteriously made alive again! I guess you could say god has a divine plan for me, right? Though, to answer your previous statement, I've never had any loyalty to the Communists. I am merely drawn to the beauty of genocide like a moth to a flame. And the bloodlust you are feeling right now is a work of art, my American brother! You and I are like two sides of the same coin, Mr. Hedgehog."

Donald Trump reached behind Sonic's ear and pulled out a penny. "Goddamn, now dis' nigga is doin' miracles n' shit. Maybe he'll be useful after all. As long as Communism is destroyed…" Sonic reeled back in astonishment, too blazed out of his mind to figure out the secret of his simple parlor trick.

He folded his arms and sighed. "I've got bigger titties to lick right now, Trump. You can follow me if you want, but the second you get in my way, I'll murderize your ass with my gun-dick. Got that?" Sonic groused, shoving his way past Trump and stepping out the open door.

Trump's nipples hardened with depraved pleasure, "Such beautiful, animalistic fuckrage! Right behind you, Mr. Hedgehog. _Let's go kill some Commie scum!"_

 _The final war may have been over, but for Sonic the Hedgehog, the true battle had only just begun. Their destinies now linked together, Sonic was joined by Donald Trump, and these burly warriors set out on a pious quest through the sands of time. In the dark days to come, the Neo Biker Brethren would be born, united with the common goal to vanquish the Marxist scourge once and for all._

 _The year is 2004, shortly after the event that would come to be known as "Americageddon" changed our star-spangled world forever. After the forces of patriotism had fallen harder than ever before, one warrior of untold freedom set out on a journey to make our country great again. He would come to be known as the "Communist Hunter", the last ray of hope in an era of darkness and Marxism._

 _The name of this gentlemanly warlord that would soon decide the shape of things to come was Sonic the Hedgehog: The Defender of America._ _This was his story..._

* * *

 _ **Next Time: The Sequel and Second Installment in the "Defender of America" Saga -**_ _**Sonic the Hedgehog: Make America Great Again**_

* * *

 _ **AFTERWORD**_

 **SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA**

 **Written by Visionary Filmmaker and Author Neil Breen**

* * *

 **I'd like to thank Fanfiction_txt and all of my dedicated readers and reviewers for making this ridiculous story possible. Without your continued support, this would have never lasted as long as it has. Thank you all for reading, and I hoped you've enjoyed it.**

 **The sequel to this fanfiction will be coming soon, so make sure to check back. I may also upload a few bonus chapters in the days to come. I hope this fanfiction has inspired you to take a stand against the evils of Cultural Marxism that plague American society today.**

 **I hope you've all enjoyed reading this story as much as I have had writing it. And lastly, remember these words:** _**Better Dead than Red.**_ **Always be a true American and keep our star-spangled flag flying!**


	41. Extra: Americaverse Death Count

**I NOW ONLY WRITE FANFICTION FOR THE SERBIAN PEOPLE. PLEASE ENJOY!**

* * *

 **SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA DEATH COUNT**

* * *

 _(Note: Only counting named characters. Also, unnamed grizzly bears that were raped to death.)_

 **ALL CHAPTERS**

Billions upon billions of Communists

 **PRIOR TO CHAPTER 1**

Osama bin Laden (Killed by Abraham Lincoln)

All grizzly Bears (Raped to death by Abraham Lincoln)

The Founding Fathers (Assassinated by Winnie the Pooh)

Christopher Robin (Eaten alive by Winnie the Pooh)

Adolf Hitler (Killed by Tupac Shakur)

Tupac Shakur (Perishes from wounds sustained during battle)

Madoka Kaname (Killed by Communists)

Homura Akemi (Suicide)

Beyoncé (Murdered by American gang)

Nicki Minaj (Beheaded by Taylor Swift)

John Cena's Original Body (Personality death by Karl Marx)

Taylor Swift's Original Body (Personality death by Karl Marx)

Heathcliff (Skinned alive by Garfield)

GZA (Killed by Shaggy 2 Dope)

Masta Killa (Killed by Shaggy 2 Dope)

Method Man (Sacrifices himself to the McDemons)

Shaggy 2 Dope (Killed by RZA)

 **MIRAI RICHARD NIXON'S UNIVERSE**

Garfield (Suicide)

Anne Frank (Dies during childbirth)

Sonic the Hedgehog (Personality death after transforming into Second Adolf Hitler)

Abraham Lincoln (Killed by Second Hitler)

Charles Barkley (Killed by Second Hitler)

Michael Jordan (Killed by Second Hitler)

Winnie the Pooh (Killed by Second Hitler)

Steve Harvey (Killed and eaten by Second Hitler)

All Living Beings in Existence (Destroyed by Second Adolf Hitler)

 **CHAPTER 1**

Vladimir Lenin (Eaten alive by Freedom-Song)

 **CHAPTER 3**

Winnie the Pooh (Hurled into the sun by Abraham Lincoln)

Pube-Slayer the Carrion-Lord (Killed by Sonic the Hedgehog)

 **CHAPTER 4**

Winnie the Pooh (Revived and killed a second time by Karl Marx)

 **CHAPTER 5**

Hulk Hogan (Personality death by Karl Marx)

 **CHAPTER 8**

Gabriel Iglesias (Eaten alive by various bald eagles)

 **CHAPTER 9**

Monstar Nawt (Beheaded by Sonic the Hedgehog)

The Monstars (Killed by Garjordan)

 **CHAPTER 12**

Michael Jordan (Obliterated during a suicide attack)

Joseph Stalin (Destroyed by Michael Jordan)

 **CHAPTER 13**

Steve Urkel (Killed by Second Adolf Hitler)

 **CHAPTER 18**

Fred Flintstone (Incinerated by Donald Trump)

 **CHAPTER 19**

Tails the Fox (Incinerated by Donald Trump)

 **CHAPTER 20**

Charles Barkley (Sacrifices himself to defeat Taylor Swift)

Taylor Swift (Obliterated by Sonic the Hedgehog)

 **CHAPTER 21**

Residents of Beach City (Incinerated by Second Adolf Hitler)

 **CHAPTER 22**

Neil deGrasse Tyson (Shot in the head by Karl Marx)

Gary Coleman (Neck is broken by Sonic the Hedgehog)

 **CHAPTER 24**

Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids (Incinerated by Donald Trump)

Garfield (Killed by John Cena)

 **CHAPTER 25**

John Cena (Destroyed by the Biker Brethren)

 **CHAPTER 27**

Arthur Read (Beaten to death by Anne Frank)

Chairman Mao Zedong (Killed by Abraham Lincoln)

Scooby-Doo (Killed in suicide attack)

Shaggy (Killed in suicide attack)

Penn Jillette (Killed by Abraham Lincoln)

The Teletubbies (Destroyed by the American fleet)

Mr. Snuffleupagus (Melted alive by acid)

Shrek (Melted alive by acid)

Shinji Ikari (Destroyed along with Unit-01 by Nazi soldiers)

Winnie the Pooh (Killed a third time during suicide attack)

 **CHAPTER 29**

Guy Cenafieri (Exorcised by Abraham Lincoln)

Ernie (Disemboweled by Guy Cenafieri)

Rubber Ducky (Suicide)

Adam Sandler II (Killed by Bert)

Donald Trump (Bisected by Dwayne Johnson)

 **CHAPTER 30  
**

Leon Trotsky (Obliterated by Second Adolf Hitler)

Friedrich Engels (Skull crushed by Second Adolf Hitler)

 **CHAPTER 31**

Abraham Lincoln (Ceases to exist after permanent fusion)

Karl Marx (Ceases to exist after permanent fusion)

 **CHAPTER 32**

All Living Beings in Existence (Destroyed by Second Adolf Hitler)

 **CHAPTER 34**

Richard Simmons (Eaten alive by Adam Sandler)

Gene Simmons (Executed by Adam Sandler)

 **CHAPTER 36**

Colonel Sanders (Suicide)

 **CHAPTER 37**

The Fry Kids (Suicide)

Dwayne Johnson (Sacrificed by Barack Obama)

Karl Lincoln (Murdered by Adam Sandler)

 **CHAPTER 38**

Adam Sandler (Killed by Sonic the Hedgehog)

Sonic the Hedgehog (Killed by Charles Darkley)

Ronald McDonald (Sacrificed to resurrect Adam Sandler)

The Grimace (Sacrificed to resurrect Adam Sandler)

Birdie the Early Bird (Sacrificed to resurrect Adam Sandler)

The Hamburglar (Sacrificed to resurrect Adam Sandler)

Mac Tonight (Sacrificed to resurrect Adam Sandler)

Mayor McCheese (Sacrificed to resurrect Adam Sandler)

Officer Big Mac (Killed by Garfield)

Guy Fieri (Killed in battle by Adam Sandler's army)

Bert (Gored by the Hamburglar)

Paul Blart (Murdered by Third Adolf Hitler / Sonic)

The Burger King (Murdered by Third Adolf Hitler / Sonic)

Ignignokt (MIA)

Err (MIA)

Caillou (MIA)

Kneesocks (MIA)

DMX (MIA)

Hank Hill (MIA)

Captain Picard (MIA)

Larry Bird (MIA)

 **CHAPTER 39**

Richard Nixon (Sacrifices himself to resurrect Sonic the Hedgehog)


	42. Showdown in Abu Dhabi

**SUGGESTED LISTENING: "THE DEAD FLAG BLUES" BY GODSPEED YOU! BLACK EMPEROR**

"...NO! Please, have mercy! I repent for my crimes, I promise to never kill a man again! Send me anywhere but _Abu Dhabi!"_ A diminutive, grey-furred cat fell to his knees, desperately pleading the hulking figure standing before him. The brawny man-cat removed the lasagna cigar from between his lips and turned to scowl at the pitiable fuckmeister splayed out in front of him. The intimidating figure knelt down, putting out his still-lit cigar by digging it into the cat's forehead.

"It's not my place to forgive you, _Nermal._ Ask the men and women you've massacred for mercy! You've been a bad kitten, and it's my job to enact justice!" The bold warrior struck Nermal with his pimp-hand, sending him flying into a locked crate that was reinforced on all sides by five inches of steel. He lifted up the cat's prison with little effort and spun around in a circle, lobbing the crate through a wormhole that led straight to the apocalyptic hellscape of Abu Dhabi.

The outstretch of sand beneath Nermal's feet seemed to give back the heat of the sun that beat down upon him from above, burning his flesh a deep shade of red. The stranded cat beat his fists upon the sun-baked earth, overcome with rage. He raised his head and screamed, "Mark my words! You're going to pay for this, you nignorant, poz-load guzzling motherfucker! _I, the mighty Nermal, shall have my revenge!"_

 ** _THE ORIGINS OF GARFIELD - SHOWDOWN IN ABU DHABI_**

 ** _5 YEARS LATER…_**

In the year 19XX, the defender of the Americaverse is much more than a man. This righteous warlord was born from the unholy union of man and cat, a match made in hell if there ever were such a thing! However, we already know this man. No, we know those impossibly statuesque muscles and that Glasgow accent! This is Garfield in his youth, long before the dark days of the Communist Wars.

Garfield pulled up his assless chaps and tossed his neon-colored scarf over his shoulder. He carefully laced his leather boots and yanked his stomachless, wide-padded coat down over his head, completing his bombastic ensemble. Clearly, he was a man of great taste and unparalleled fashion sense. With a swish of his hips, Garfield uttered his legendary catchphrase: _"I only like girls with dicks!"_

Approaching from behind was Garfield's partner and trusted confidant, a gay twink by the name of _Lyman._ Sharing Garfield's exquisite taste, Lyman wore a purple zoot-suit that perfectly complimented his bright yellow pompadour. Together, these two burly warriors work as mercenaries for hire, traveling all across the Americaverse and combating the forces of evil and Cultural Marxism.

However, these years of peace and plenty were about to close in for Garfield and his allies. It all started when a mysterious package from Abu Dhabi arrived at the late Jon Arbuckle's old home, this pious feline's inner sanctum and sex dungeon. Garfield's sphincter puckered in horror as he gazed upon the contents hidden within the crate before him. He recoiled with shock as he reached his pudgy digits deep into the box, retrieving a severed, mummified eyeball.

To Garfield and Lyman, it was clear that this ancient human remain originated from no ordinary corpse. This remnant was from the holy body of _Jon Arbuckle!_ After his fateful duel with _Dilbert,_ the evil tyrant that ruled over the _Sunday Funnies_ hundreds of yahrens ago, Jon split his body into dozens of pieces to prevent his godlike puissance from ever falling into the hands of his sodomous foes.

When in the possession of mortal men, his body parts are said to endow their user with miraculous, otherworldly powers. For Garfield, the purpose of this cryptic message was clear: his oldest enemy was planning to collect the corpse of Jon Arbuckle and fuse it to his own body, transforming him into a warrior without equal in order to enact his bloody revenge.

"...So, that bastard Nermal is still alive, eh? If so, we're in deep shit. Especially since he's collecting the body parts of Jon Arbuckle to transform himself into some sort of immortal monster!" Lyman voiced his discontent in a low voice. Garfield shook his head, "Nermal doesn't want to be a monster, Lyman. He wants to be a Mon _-STAR!_ To rule over this mortal world as a beautiful, untouchable master-being is his greatest dream. Unfortunately for him, this scare tactic has told us all we need to know about his plans. I'm going to travel to Abu Dhabi and put an end to this!"

"Well well, I've always wanted to travel the galaxy. Let's go and slay the fuck out of his punk ass!" Lyman spoke with a chuckle, leaning forwards and beating his fist against Garfield's own. The portly man-cat held Jon Arbuckle's severed eyeball against his chest, warmly reminiscing about his glory days fighting alongside his owner and martial-arts master. Garfield kicked down the door and swaggered forth, taking his first steps on a journey that would forever changed his fate. He chuckled, _"God, I really hate Mondays…"_


	43. The Legacy of Jon Arbuckle

**If you haven't done so already, make sure to check out the incredible animated version of this chapter made by the people at Dorkly! Really, I could go on and on about how much of a brilliant job they did with it. But instead of doing that, I'd recommend that you watch the latest installment of Fan Fiction Theatre and see it for yourself. You won't be disappointed!**

* * *

 **SUGGESTED LISTENING: "WANKING SHIT FOR LIFE" BY PASSENGER OF SHIT**

 **THE ORIGINS OF GARFIELD 2 - THE LEGACY OF JON ARBUCKLE**

Jon Arbuckle was not a man of our world. To all that knew him, this truth was evident. He walked in starlight, gracing our world with his presence yet never truly residing within it. Jon Arbuckle followed a higher code: the code of spilt blood, cold steel, boss pimps, and crack hoes. _The code of the warrior._

My name is Garfield, and this is the story of how I met this man that would come to shape my destiny. When I was young, I did not truly trust anyone of this world, be they man, woman, or beast. I lived each day as if it were my last, never forming any lasting attachments to others. I was no more than a mere thug, fighting for hollow glory on the streets. Many fell to my hand. I wasted my life away smoking the illegal street drug known as "Lasagna", inching ever closer to death.

Most men would call me fearless, but that's not true. Back then, I was a shallow man. I never felt the pangs of my conscience. I took no pleasure in anything. It's true that I felt no fear, but what that really meant was that I held nothing close to my heart. There was nothing I cared about losing, nothing I strove to protect. My life was empty.

But then, my life changed when I met that man. That warrior. For once in my life, I thought to myself, "Here is a man that I do not wish to disappoint". I can remember that Winter night as clearly as if it happened yesterday. Even after beating me into a pulp with his righteous pimp-hand, his expression never changed. He retained that same perfectly calm look in his eyes. This was when I met _Jon Arbuckle._

Yet, behind those eyes was hidden indescribable grief. How did such a young man have such old eyes? I ran this question through my mind several times. In his short life, Jon Arbuckle had seen more than several lifetimes worth for lesser men.

I quivered like a child, shaking in my boots. Yet, his face reflected no signs of pity nor disgust. He spoke in a perfectly calm, yet stern voice, like a parent scolding a child. I'll never forget what he said that day: "Your heart is empty, Garfield. There is no love. You have never trusted anyone, so no one has ever trusted you. Your strength is pointless. You fight, but you gain no pleasure from doing so. You flee when the situation turns against you, but you have nothing to protect. There is no future in which you see yourself ever having a purpose. It's all... _pointless."_

With one look, Jon Arbuckle saw right through my shallowness. He saw me for who I truly was. For the first time, I was deeply embarrassed. I had finally met a man whose opinion mattered to me.

For me, the few seconds of silence that followed seemed to last for ages. Jon Arbuckle took a step forward and began to speak, "However, you show great potential. Will you join me, Garfield? Will you take my hand and enter the world of a true man? Will you pledge yourself to me, even with your soul, heart, and loins?"

I was visibly shaken. However, the choice I had to make was clear. Without a moment of hesitation, I fell upon my face and pledged myself to the righteous warmaster towering over me. After this fateful Monday, all others were soiled to me.

For this man, Garfield, no other Monday could ever hope to compare. Garfield had taken his first steps into the world of the enigmatic Jon Arbuckle, a path that would forever change his fate...

"Look, I'm not tryna' say that there ain't any other good kinds of music. I love me some Nightcore and Harsh Noise just as much as the next guy. But none of them are anywhere near as good as the Insane Clown Posse. It's like the music equivalent of the Aryan race. Ya feelin' me, Garf-Man?" Lyman pontificated in a scholarly manner.

Garfield crinkled his brow, "What the hell are you even talking about, Lyman? We need to reach Abu Dhabi as quick as we can so we can stop that shit cunt Nermal's plans. Are you high?" Lyman shook his head in silent disappointment, "Get down with the clown til' your dead in the ground, man. That's all I have left t'say on this matter."

Before beginning their journey of righteous male bonding, Garfield and Lyman decided to stop at the U.S. Acres to arm themselves and replenish their supplies. Garfield cracked a sly grin as he entered Orson's private fallout bunker and was greeted by an assortment of nearly every type of weapon imaginable.

Lyman knelt down and lifted up his killing machine of choice: an enormous, two-handed gatling gun with a rotating barrel that could fire off approximately twenty bullets at a time at a rate of ten times a second. At short range, this powerful minigun could utterly decimate anyone who dared to stand in the way of Lyman's raging fuckfury. Such is a holy act.

Lyman cocked his head to the side. He frowned, "You still flailin' about that old hunk of metal, Garf-man?" Across the room, Garfield unsheathed his legendary chainsaw nunchuks. With an impossibly fast stroke of his blade, he carved all of the target dummies in the room asunder with little effort. The cat smiled, "This chainsaw is a gift from Jon Arbuckle, Lyman. You could say it's an old friend, like my dick. It's been around for as long as I can remember, like my dick. Could I ever truly betray my dick, Lyman?"

Lyman was stunned by Garfield's flawless logic as he compared a chainsaw to his genitals. Truly, he was every bit as wise as he was strong.

"You sure you want to go through with this, old friend? Like you, Nermal was also trained in the art of the warrior by Jon Arbuckle. The chances aren't high that you'll make it back alive, even if you manage to defeat him!" Orson stood alongside Garfield as he gazed upon the rising sun, voicing his concern. The rotund warlord placed a caring hand upon Orson's shoulder, "I appreciate the sentiment, lad. But if not me and Lyman, who could possibly stop Nermal's wrath? You've seen just how deadly he is. I have to stop him while he's still weak, before he can recover Jon's corpse. If I die, then it shall be for a worthy cause!"

Orson bowed his head, deeply touched in his nether regions by his companion's unbreakable resolve, "Garfield…" Elsewhere, Nermal's dark forces had already been set into motion. Without so much as a scream, Lanolin Sheep's throat had been slit by the hands of a skillful assassin.

Within seconds, Nermal's elite had already taken out all of the guards Orson had positioned around the perimeter of his farm. "...Hear me out, Garf-man. I've got a great joke. I'm gonna ask you a question, and you're gonna answer. It's gonna be a real fuckin' knee-slapper. Ya feel me?" Lyman beamed wide, repeatedly raising both of his eyebrows up and down.

Garfield wasn't quick to share his partner's enthusiasm. "Lyman, we really don't have time for jokes. Somewhere, Nermal is probably murdering thou-" "Come on, Garf! Don't be a shit. You're talkin' into my ass, here. I can't hear friggin' shit out of my ass. Here's the question: what's the hardest part about eating a vegetable?" Lyman asked, ignoring Garfield's comment.

The cat exhaled deeply, "I don't know. What is it, Lyman?" His partner bit down upon his lower lip, barely stifling his audible chortling. _"Swallowing the wheelchair!"_ He answered. Immediately afterwards, Lyman fell on the floor and began to laugh hysterically at his terrible joke.

"Lyman, that's worse than usual. Are you even trying?" Garfield rolled his eyes, irritated. Before Lyman could respond, he was interrupted as the door leading into the barn was blown off of its hinges. Booker the chick crawled into the room, gasping for breath and barely holding onto life. "G-Garfield! Nermal's forces have already circled the barn. _You have to esca-!"_

A gunshot echoed throughout the room, cutting him off mid-sentence. Booker collapsed, silenced by a bullet wound to the back of his skull. Garfield gasped, "It's an enemy! Nermal's assassins are here!"

This fuckferocious warrior stepped outside, prepared to disembowel the first person he saw with his chainsaw-nunchuks and avenge his friend. Before him stood Nermal's trusted team of commandos: _Calvin, Hobbes, Private Beetle Bailey, and Hägar the Horrible._

Garfield gritted his teeth, _"God, I really hate Mondays…"_


	44. A Tail of Two Kitties

**I AM PROUD TO ANNOUNCE THAT I HAVE BEEN HIRED TO WRITE THE UPCOMING SPACE JAM SEQUEL. THE WORKING TITLE IS "SPACE JAM 2: A SERBIAN FILM". BILL MURRAY GUEST-STARS.**

 **THE ORIGINS OF GARFIELD 3 - A TAIL OF TWO KITTIES**

Every time I think of Nermal, my heart is clouded with regrets. Could I have helped him? Could I have prevented his descent into darkness? Was I the cause of his madness? Regardless of the answers to those questions, there is no changing the past. I realize that now. It doesn't matter how he became that way, since the truth about him is evident: _Nermal is a monster in the form of a man._

Nermal was blessed with impossible, angelic beauty, looking more akin to a marble sculpture or some lofty hero from a fairytale than a mere man. While not physically imposing by any means, the first apprentice of Jon Arbuckle was truly a sight to behold. From the way he carried himself to the way he spoke, there was only one word that could accurately describe Nermal in exact detail: _perfection._

Regretfully, his personality was anything but. We didn't exactly meet one good terms, but even then I could see the darkness in his heart. Just like how any other red-blooded American spends his Sunday mornings, I was busy making passionate, bareback love to my sweetheart, Arlene, behind a public dumpster. This is when it all started.

Nermal approached us from behind, nervously sweating and grumbling like a bitch in heat as he shuffled around in his latex trousers. To be perfectly honest, he looked as if he was about to pass out at the sight. He took out his handkerchief to wipe the sweat and urine streaming down his forehead, burbling incoherently all the while. " _Kgh… nrgh… how could this have h-happened? Mngh… gugh... h-how could you do this to me, my beautiful A-Arlene? How could you… w-with this fat orange f-fucker? Bugh… ngh… f-f-faggot…"_

Nermal was devastated, and his usual calm and sophisticated demeanor was shattered. Never before in his life had he been disgraced in such a way. Ever since he was a child, Nermal was praised as being a prodigy. From physical fitness to science and even arithmetic, Nermal was a scholar without equal and the undisputed greatest in every field he set his mind to. Or, so he once thought.

In just one afternoon, Garfield had stolen away the love of his life without even trying. This upstart had gained the trust of the mighty Jon Arbuckle without having to work for it! On that day, something in Nermal snapped. And his life would only get worse from there.

Nermal's social status quickly crumbled as Garfield entered into his life. His closest friends turned against him, all flocking towards Garfield instead. Before long, Jon Arbuckle even decided to make his newest apprentice his sole heir and the inheritor of his vast fortune. For the first time in his life, Nermal was simply… _average._

Without knowing it, I may have forced him down the dark path he decided to walk. And because of this, those regrets will always remain with me. The guilt I carry is the only certainty of this life, and it shall always remain my constant companion, even after the world and all of my allies have faded away. For a time, I didn't give a second thought to what Nermal was slowly becoming. Or rather, what I was turning him into.

Everything changed when I met him that night.

For the first time, he had actually invited me into his home. Even now, I still can't quite figure out his reasoning for doing so. Nermal was a vain person, and his dwelling place reflected this quite well. Adorning the walls were dozens of tapestries and self-portraits of himself in various states of undress, complete with disproportionately massive genitals. To say I was discomforted by this would be a huge understatement.

However, something else quickly caught my eye: his collection of stone busts. Well, 'busts' isn't exactly the right word to explain it.

Nermal liked to collect statues of armpits. Women's armpits. Hundreds upon hundreds of them. Nermal smiled, gently caressing the curves and bumps of the marble with his dainty fingers. He turned to me with an empty, haunting stare, "...Don't you think they're beautiful too, Garfield? The statues I created, I mean". I fumbled through the question, not really sure of how to respond. "S-Sure, Nermal…"

"...T-They're so beautiful and smooth, don't you agree? There is no form upon God's Earth more beautiful than the armpit. This is a form of beauty that only the sophisticated can respect. Have you ever heard of the 'Golden Ratio', Garfield? No matter the person, no matter the age, sex, or species, this ratio of 'beauty' can always be found inside the armpit. If that's not a gift from our lord, I'm not sure what is!" Nermal cooed with pleasure, cradling several of his statues in his arms. I slowly backed away, reaching for the doorknob from behind as to not raise suspicion.

Nermal chuckled and lowered his gaze. "To be honest, I wish that I was born as an armpit. Only then would I be more beautiful than I am now. This is going to sound really awkward, but I just need someone to hear this. Listen closely, Garfield: _every time I think about armpits…_ **_I get a gigantic fucking boner"._**

I had tried my hardest not to think too much about Nermal's remarks. With the recent death of our master, my schedule was full for the foreseeable future, making forgetting easy enough. But deep inside, I knew that I had to go back. I needed to know just what the hell he was raving about that night. Nermal was hiding a dark secret, and it was my duty to find it.

After prying open the floorboards, I was greeted by the most horrible thing my eyes have ever beheld. Even now, I still get nauseous thinking about it.

Dead bodies. Hundreds of grizzly, maimed, horrifically rotting corpses. In that moment, the inner machinations of Nermal's twisted mind suddenly became perfectly clear to me. Nermal held no secrets; he had already shown his victims, almost as if he was bragging that night. To make his statues and attain his concept of 'true beauty', he had severed the arms of countless innocents and used their corpses as his references. He had an entire audience to applaud him once more, the very same audience I had stolen away from him. This way, Nermal would never be lonely again. He would always be among friends.

The decision I had to make was difficult, but I do not regret it. Simply sending him to Abu Dhabi again would not be enough. To avenge the lives of those he had callously slaughtered, _Nermal had to be killed…_


	45. Garfield Gets Real

**SUGGESTED LISTENING: "SUCK MY DOG'S DICK" BY WESLEY WILLIS**

 **THE ORIGINS OF GARFIELD 4 - GARFIELD GETS REAL**

"So, you're the one responsible for banishing Lord Nermal to Abu Dhabi? It's an honor to meet you, apprentice of Jon Arbuckle. Not even I could hope to defeat the master! Forgive my selfishness, but I would like to slay this one myself. Will you grant me this fight, Hobbes?" Calvin stepped to the forefront of the group, fearlessly meeting Garfield's vengeful gaze. The hulking man-tiger standing by his side folded his arms, looking none too pleased. "...Fine, brother. Have it your way. But remember: your safety is my top responsibility. The second things turn against you, I'll finish him myself!"

Despite his cordial demeanor, Garfield could clearly see the dark determination hidden within Calvin's soul. This righteous warrior had faced many men such as this in his time- those whose unyielding pride would drive them to any measure to win their fight, no matter how desperate.

Garfield crinkled his brow, "Our daddies told us not to be ashamed of our dicks. I can sense the great power you're holding back, Calvin. Your power is like your cock, and true Americans always keep their cocks out on display. Aren't you a true American too, Calvin?"

Before he could respond, Calvin accidentally stepped upon the hem of his maroon trenchcoat and collapsed to the dirt. Lyman's eyes widened in surprise, "Sheeeiiit, hold up! This… this guy is blind!"

With the help of his partner, Calvin shakily rose to his feet. "Well, I suppose the secret is out. You made a good point earlier, Garfield. There's no honor in hiding my ability from you. So, in a matter of speaking, I shall show my 'cock' to you…" Garfield's opponent paused and removed his sunglasses, revealing a gruesome sight. Lyman recoiled in horror, shocked to see two empty sockets where Calvin's eyes should have been.

"Gatdamn! What the hell is wrong with yo fuckin' face?" Lyman blurted out. Garfield slowly shook his head, "Lyman, you can't just ask what's wrong with people's faces. What the hell, lad?" Lyman shrugged, "I can't help it, Garf-man. I tell 'em like I see 'em. So, when's this cracker gonna show his power, anyway?"

Calvin puckered his brow, driven to the limits of his patience. "Garfield is a man of honor and seraphic patriotism, just the sort of man I can respect. However, I have no patience for nignorant motherfuckers like you who don't know their place. _Disappear!"_ With a flick of his wrist, Calvin suddenly hurled a fistful of pocket sand in Lyman's direction.

Unbeknownst to Garfield's fashionably dressed comrade, this show of force was anything but harmless. Without warning, each grain of sand erupted in fire and exploded inches away from Lyman's face. _"Y-You soppy cuntfuck!"_ Three of Lyman's fingers were blown off in the ensuing explosion, and the sheer force of Calvin's attack sent him flying through the roof of Orson's barn. Such was a profoundly unholy act.

"...Since the day I was born, everything I've touched with my bare hands has turned into a ticking timebomb. Before I could even crawl, I accidentally murdered both of my parents by turning them into bombs. When I was even younger, I unknowingly detonated my own eyeballs and blew them right out of my skull. Not even I can fully control this power. That is the true nature of my cock, Garfield! _Tremble before it!"_ Calvin cackled with sadistic glee. He took a step forwards, walking with intensely passionate hip and groin thrusts.

Calvin furiously beat his fists upon the ground beneath, transforming the earth into a field of invisible landmines. Garfield used his chainsaw-nunchuks to hack apart the loose dirt at his feet, detonating all of Calvin's bombs from a safe distance. Garfield stuck a lasagna-blunt between his lips and chuckled, "Pshht, nothin' personal... _kid."_

With his dual chainsaw blades in hand, Garfield lunged at his baleful opponent. Using his keen hearing, Calvin was able to dodge all of this portly man-cat's attacks even without sight. Calvin pressed his index finger upon the dirt and detonated it, lighting an explosion that sent Garfield flying across the battlefield.

"That's not all I can set ablaze with my hands, apprentice of Jon Arbuckle! It doesn't even need to be a physical object as long as I can touch it. I can even transform your oxygen supply into explosives!" With a slash of his opened hand, Calvin sent a raging wave of fire hurdling in midair towards Garfield's direction.

With a speed beyond reckoning, Garfield began to swing his nunchuks. His pudgy body moved with graceful symmetry, and his twin chainsaws began to fly with such a speed that they came to simultaneously exist in every possible location around his body in the exact same millisecond, effectively shielding him.

Garfield wiped the blood from his lip and swaggered out from Calvin's swath of explosions completely unharmed. "S-Shit, we're in deep! They're both evenly matched in terms of power. I'm not even sure Garfield can beat this guy by himself, let alone his three partners!" Lyman watched their heated duel from the sidelines, still too injured from Calvin's previous attack to assist.

Calvin transmogrified the molecules of water in his canteen into explosives and threw it to the ground, drenching Garfield's entire body before he could react. Calvin held out his open palm and used his fingers to count down the seconds until Garfield's body would be blown to smithereens.

He drew back his lip and formed a sickeningly smug grin, "You may be fast, but there's no dodging when your entire body is disintegrated! In five seconds, you'll be nothing but dust! Nermal-sama is the first person to ever make me feel important, even with this horrible curse. He gave Hobbes and I a purpose when the world abandoned us. For his sake, _I shall destroy you!"_

Despite the massive odds stacked against his victory, Garfield seemed unconcerned. Most normal men would simply take their chances and try to flee from this fight, but Garfield was not a normal man. Instead, he charged directly towards Calvin!

"...You've already given away your weakness, laddy. You may be powerful, but you're still vulnerable to your own bombs! All I need to do is get to you in under five seconds. If I'm going to be destroyed, I'll take you to hell with me!" Garfield roared like a mighty hellhound, swinging his prodigious girth in the wind as he drew nearer. This righteous warlord of gentlemanly patriotism vaulted high into the air, knowing that Calvin would be unable to predict where he would land without the sound of his footsteps.

"Goddamn you! He's a clever bastard, just like Nermal-sama described. But little does he know, I still have the upper hand. Over the years, I've learned to manually deactivate my explosives before detonation. When he lands and thinks he's safe, I'll catch him by surprise and blow him limb from limb!" Calvin shifted his body into a defensive position, ready to leap into action the moment Garfield made a sound.

"USA! USA! USA!" Garfield cried out with a saintly Americagasm as he flailed his chainsaw-nunchuks, preparing to cleave off his opponent's head from above. Calvin trembled with fear, "H-His chainsaw?! Damn it all, this wasn't supposed to happen! He must have learned that the bomb is no longer active, otherwise he would have just tried to smother me instead of using a ranged attack! Wait… the five second time limit! It's already passed, that's how he figured me out! _That goddamn baka gaijin!"_

Without any alternative strategies and no time to run, Calvin was forced to intercept Garfield's chainsaw with his bare hands to avoid losing his life. Garfield's foe howled like a woman in travail as he gripped the chainsaw hands-on and shoved it away, lacerating his skin and grinding the bones in his fingers to meal.

"Looks like my work here is done. I could read the lack of fear on your face, and that tipped me off to the fact that you disabled the bomb. I had predicted that you'd catch my chainsaw and ruin your hands, rendering you harmless. You're an honorable man, so I won't kill you. Take my advice, Calvin: renounce your fealty to Nermal and leave this place!" Garfield spoke aloud in a soft and wise voice, showing that he bore no animosity towards his enemy. Calvin gritted his teeth and snarled, "...Don't you dare pity me! _Don't you fucking DARE!"_

After venting his frustrations, Calvin took a deep breath and regained his composure. He lifted his chin and frowned, "My family has a saying, Garfield: _the blessed man is the man who takes the longest shit._ All other men must follow this man, helplessly biding their time like mere cattle for him to finish. In this world, that is what true power is. I want this power, the power to force all others to bow before my will and fall in line before me! I shall use the curse I was born with to subjugate the hearts of the masses! This is the power that Nermal-sama shall bestow upon me for my faithfulness!"

"...This is my resolve! **_I WILL TAKE THE LONGEST SHIT, GARFIIIIIELD!"_** Calvin roared as he threw himself back into the fray, reaching out his bloodied hands to grab Garfield by the wrist. "I knew that you would do that, Calvin. At times like this, I really hate being right all the time. You may not know it yet, but you're already dead..." Garfield stood perfectly still and unflinching as Calvin grabbed his wrist, transforming it into a powerful explosive.

With a swing of his chainsaw, Garfield severed the affected forearm from his body. The fearless heir of Jon Arbuckle swaggered forth and lobbed his arm straight ahead, and the ensuing explosion at the stump of this severed appendage transformed it into a powerful missile of flesh that was propelled directly through Calvin's torso and out the other side.

"...You… you transformed your own arm into a cruise missile in order to kill me? Ha... I applaud you, Garfield. I have been totally and utterly defeated. Maybe you have a shot at defeating Nermal-sama after all…" Calvin collapsed to the dirt in a puddle of his own blood, annihilated by Garfield's last-ditch effort. Garfield knelt down and placed his hand upon Calvin's chest, joining him in the final moments of his life, "Sayanora, Calvin. In another life, I think we could have been allies. It's a damn shame that fate placed us on opposite sides. _Rest easy, my friend"._

"Kill that bastard! Make him and his friend suffer! _Kill 'em all!"_ Beetle Bailey and Hägar blustered with rage, charging directly towards Garfield's location. "...Y-You miserable pissants! Don't you dare disrespect my death by resorting to such shameful tactics!" Mustering up the very last of his strength, Calvin transformed Beetle Bailey into an explosive and lobbed him at his companion. The two warriors were incinerated in the blink of an eye, erupting like a mighty squib and lighting up the ashen sky.

"Wha-?" Garfield stood agape, unable to comprehend Calvin's sudden change of heart. Calvin rested his head upon the dirt, looking to be completely at peace with himself despite being moments away from death. He smiled and turned to his opponent, "...Don't misunderstand, Garfield. I pledge myself to Nermal-sama even with my last breath. My pride as a warrior simply wouldn't allow that scum to dishonor your fair victory. Y'know, maybe you were right. In another time and place, maybe we could have been… friends. Maybe I have lived just to meet a warrior like you. _Farewell… Garfield-san…"_

Hobbes beat his fists upon the earth, mourning the loss of his closest companion. "Calvin… _you bastard._ I always knew that you'd go off and get yourself killed one day doing something like this. That indomitable, unbreakable pride was always your greatest weakness. Forgive me brother, but I'm afraid I'll have to bring dishonor upon you. Your murderer cannot be allowed to live, I won't allow it!" Hobbes threw himself into the fray and socked Garfield in the jaw, sending him helplessly hurdling across the battlefield.

Lyman watched in horror as Garfield was pummeled to the dirt by Hobbes' furious barrage of punches and kicks, helpless to defend himself from his wrath. Hobbes drew back his blood-soaked fist and slammed this pious American through five meters of solid concrete, sending him through the walls of Orson's fallout bunker.

"Damn, I expended too much energy while fighting Calvin! In this state, I'm totally useless. If I don't do something, this trippin' honkey is going to kill me! Grant me your strength and courage, Jon Arbuckle! Give me the strength to survive!" Garfield folded his arms over his face and bore his fangs, preparing himself for the next attack. His eyes widened with shock as he looked down, noticing that the eye from Arbuckle's corpse that Nermal had sent him had begun to shine with a faint glow.

Garfield reached into his pocket and held this relic of untold power high over his head, "Wait… _Jon Arbuckle's corpse!_ It is said that whomever collects his remains shall gain unbeatable patriotic power. That was Nermal's goal in the first place! If he can do it, I sure as hell can too!" Garfield channeled his hormonal niggerfury and abundant angst into Jon's remains, powering it with his lifeforce.

"Go straight to Abu Dhabi, you goddamned, carpet-lickin', welfare-pimpin', sewer-chewin', stank-poon fuckin', West Nile snatch mothafucka'!" Clutching the sole remnant of his late master in his hands, Garfield swung his meaty fists and utterly decimated Hobbes' skull with a single strike. Lyman dragged his broken body to Garfield's side and rested a caring hand upon his shoulder, "Don't feel bad, Garf-man. This just goes to show what a monster Nermal really is. He managed to turn these righteous niggaz into merciless killing machines who'd gladly throw their lives away for him. Turn your grief into anger, and then we can go slay the fuck out of that punk bitch once and for all!"

Lyman fetched his sewing kit and held up Garfield's severed forearm, prepping to reattach it to his battered torso. Garfield bowed his head, silently contemplating the events and bloodshed that had just transpired. "God, I really hate Mondays…"

 _Sittin' at the ghetto thinkin bout_

 _All my homies passed away (Ugh)_

 _Candy painted Cadillacs and triple gold_

 _That's how me and my boys rolled_

 _How could it be?_

 _Somebody took my boy from me_

 _My best friend's gone_

 _And I'm so all alone_

 _I know you in a better place_

 _And I hope to see ya soon someday…_

 **\- Excerpt from "I Miss my Homies" by Master P. This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Calvin and Hobbes. May they rest in peace.**


	46. Here Comes Garfield

**SUGGESTED LISTENING FOR MEN OF THE LORD: "WANK OF DEATH" BY MC BUSHPIG**

 **THE ORIGINS OF GARFIELD 5 - HERE COMES GARFIELD**

"...I know this feeling of dread all too well. This is his aura of evil! That man's bloodlust follows him like a dark cloud wherever he goes, even in a hellhole like Abu Dhabi. We've finally made it: _this is Nermal's hideout"._ Garfield and Lyman clutched their crotches with one hand and stuck out their index fingers with the other, forming an intimidating pose as to strike fear into the hearts of their philistine enemies. Garfield sighed, "Yare yare. God, I really hate Mondays…"

Lyman trembled in his boots, unable to maintain the same calm and collected demeanor as his partner. "If you can sense him from here, he can definitely sense us. We're about to walk right into a trap, Garf-man. Are you sure you want to keep going? It's not too late to turn back!" He pleaded with a look of desperation in his eyes. Garfield slowly shook his head, "I usually love traps, but even I'll admit that I'm every bit as afraid as you are, lad. But if not us, then who will stop Nermal's plans? He won't stop until the entire Americaverse is under his boot. I could never let that happen, and I'm sure you feel the same!"

Lyman reluctantly nodded his head, unable to counter his trusted comrade's eloquent argument and fervent dick thrusting. "...You've always been my inspiration, Garf-man. When shit gets rough, I can always count on you to set things right. You're not going to go and get yourself killed or any dumbass shit, right?" Lyman asked, feigning courage. Garfield cracked a half-smile and rested his hand upon his partner's shoulder, "Same goes to you, Lyman. However, you don't need to worry about me. Above all else, I'm a survivor. Living on the streets made me that way. Even when everyone is else is dead and gone, I'm sure I'll still be around. _That's my fate…"_

While stealthily drawing nearer to Nermal's hideout, Garfield couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy. After all, Nermal's bachelor pad villa overlooking the Persian Gulf was truly a sight to behold! This place reflected Garfield's taste perfectly: the angelic hymns of the Insane Clown Posse were playing on all the nearby stereos, and Nermal's harem of scantily clad loli women and cat-eared fuckboys lounged by his solid gold orgy pit. One day, Garfield dreamed of settling down in a place such as this. Such was a noble, honest goal.

Lyman withdrew his minigun and began to fire, shredding apart Nermal's marble statues and priceless collections of artwork for no other reason than sheer spite. "You two are Mr. Garfield and Mr. Lyman, correct? I am _Dennis the Menace,_ the humble butler of this mansion. Master Nermal has been waiting for you," Nermal's snappily dressed, blonde haired boyslave sauntered into the room from behind, startling Garfield and his partner.

"Am I gon' hafta swerve on a nigga? Do I need to shank this guy's shit, Garf-man?" In the blink of an eye, Lyman withdrew his linoleum knife and pressed it against the butler's throat. Garfield shook his head, "Hold up, lad. This guy seems clean, I don't sense any intent to kill coming from him. Why has Nermal sent you, boyslave? _Tell me!"_

"My only instructions are to lead you to Nermal's study, young master. Please, I humbly ask of you to come with me," Dennis the Menace spoke in a flat tone, confirming that he had no hostile intentions. Without any other choices, Garfield and Lyman followed behind as he led them to their final confrontation. However, as soon as Garfield and his party reached the winding flight of stairs leading to Nermal's inner sanctum, a pair of steel doors clamped together and prevented their advance.

"Lyman!" Garfield cried out in a panicked voice, having been separated with his partner when the entrance was sealed off. The fuckraging feline pounded his fists against the reinforced steel, but even his godlike puissance proved ineffective against the barrier. Garfield lifted up Dennis by his throat and pinned him against the wall, "You… _you goddamned baka!_ There's no way that Lyman can hear me on the other side of that wall. You separated us so that your shitlord master could pick us both off without risking an outmatched fight!"

Despite the situation, Dennis the Menace's face showed no fear. Rather, he seemed to be almost relieved. "I bear no ill will towards you, young master. But against two opponents, even the great Nermal-sama's hidden ability may prove to be useless. With my last breath, I must protect the master! Nermal-sama is strong, great, and beautiful, surpassing any other living being of this world. I must fight for him! And to keep his secrets, I must also die in his name…" Before Garfield could intervene, Dennis produced a switchblade and used it to slice his throat, instantly ending his own life.

Garfield fell upon one knee and closed Dennis's lifeless eyes out of respect. Overcome with rage, Garfield began to ineffectually beat his fists against the walls until his knuckles were soaked with blood. He took a long, hard sigh in defeat, "Damn you, Nermal. You prepared for every possible outcome, didn't you? You even forced your loyal followers to kill themselves so they wouldn't give away your secrets. But that ability he mentioned… what could that be? Has the corpse of Jon Arbuckle really granted him its strength? If it has, I fear the entire patriotverse may be in danger..."

With the path behind him sealed off, Lyman had no choice but to continue his perilous journey alone. It was then that he saw it: a great, vast, terrible shape looming over him in the blackness. Even though he was dozens of feet away, Lyman was frozen in place with fear. This was no ordinary fear, that much was for certain. This was the sort of crippling, debilitating terror you feel when you stare death itself in the face. The kind of fear you feel when you suddenly became all too aware of your own mortality.

Too frightened to make a move, Lyman reflected back to his life and all of the decisions that led him to this place. In an instant, his fate would be decided. It was either kill or be killed. One thing was for certain: only one man would leave this room alive. "I don't want to die here!" Lyman's thoughts screamed, begging him inside of his own mind to escape. "I need to live!"

"...You will not be able to defeat me here. You know that, don't you? Garfield stands a chance because he is willing to die. But you don't, do you Lyman? He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal. While not entirely related, I feel that this proverb describes the nature of mortal man and the longevity of his life perfectly. On a level of skill, you are endlessly talented. But skill alone will not be able to defeat me. What is your resolve, Lyman? Are you ready to die to kill me? I don't think you are. I'm more than ready to perish for what I believe in," Nermal's cold, haunting stare pierced Lyman's soul. With no more than a few sentences, he completely broke down his entire defense. He saw through Lyman's fear and weakness. He read him like an open book, leaving his opponent feeling utterly exposed, wretched, and pitiful. _This was Nermal's resolve._

Lyman dug his nails into the palms of his hands, using pain to keep his mind calm and focused. Nermal took a step forwards, clearly unconcerned by the weapon his opponent trained directly between his eyes. Nermal tipped his aviator glasses and smirked, "Of course, you can still leave. You have nothing to do with my feud with Garfield and his late master. If you are afraid, just disappear. To me, you are just a bug that treads under my boot, hardly warranting my concern. On the other hand, I am like a gorgeous armpit- graceful, awe-inspiring, and powerful. However, if you dare to interfere, _I will crush you like the inferior insect you are"._

"Y-You're fucking sick, man…" Lyman snarled, barely forcing the words out of his mouth. "Do not condemn the way I live as backwards simply because you do not understand. I strive for one thing and one thing only: _perfection._ I wish to become like the armpit, a shape unattainable in its grace and beauty. Fighting and killing those that are powerful allows me to grow closer to this ideal of perfection. Perfection is an active pursuit, so there are challenges I must first overcome. And once I slay Garfield, I will prove myself worthy of Jon Arbuckle's praise. I will finally become one step closer to being… _perfect,"_ Nermal orated in an eerily calm, assured tone of voice. To Lyman, one thing was for sure- Nermal's strength was on a completely different level than his own.

"...I don't give a damn about your beliefs n' shit, ya sick armpit fucker! No matter what, I made a promise I'd save Garfield's ass when shit gets rough, and I'm going to do just that! _EAT SHIT, NERMAL!"_ Mustering his courage, Lyman emptied every last round of his minigun in Nermal's stomach. His furious salvo utterly eviscerated him in the blink of an eye, sending Nermal's limp body flying.

"I made a promise I'd save Garfield's ass when shit gets rough, and I'm going to do just that! _EAT SHIT, NER-_ wait, what?" Lyman's eyes widened in surprise as he caught himself repeating his words. He looked down and was dumbfounded to find that his minigun was completed loaded despite firing all of its bullets seconds before, something that completely defied logic. Lyman lifted his chin, finding that Nermal was also completely unharmed and still standing in his original position. "T-That's impossible! I'm sure I just fired my gun and killed his punk ass. What the hell is going on?"

Without any time to spare, he was unable to ponder on this situation any longer. Lyman withdrew his machete and dug it into Nermal's throat, killing him immediately on impact. "I'm sure I just fired my gun and killed his punk ass. What the hell is going- _shit!_ It happened a second time!" After repeating his words again, Lyman's feeling of déjà vu returned in full force. He held up his blade but was unable to find any signs of blood upon its surface. And just like the previous time, Nermal was still unharmed from his attack.

Nermal cocked his head to the side and chuckled, "Are you beginning to piece it together, Lyman? The true power I possess within me? Have you considered taking a look at your watch by any chance?" Just as he suggested, Lyman looked down and was mortified at what he discovered. "10:30… that can't be fuckin' possible! That's the time when I first entered this room, but at least ten minutes have passed since then. Wait, _unless-!"_

"Keep going! You're almost there. I'll give you a hint, insect: my ability has to do with time. What am I doing with time, Lyman?" Nermal asked. Garfield's trembling partner paused to wipe the cold sweat dripping down his forehead, "T-T-Time! You're rewinding time itself! You keep sending me back by several minutes to save your shit!"

"Do you know what the best part is, insect? When I jump backwards, only my status effects are reversed. If anyone else is injured, they carry their wounds with them through the timestream. Can you guess what I'm about to do next, Lyman?" Nermal took a step forward and rolled up his right sleeve, revealing a concealed blade surgically attached to his wrist. "You should have known your place, you worthless bug! If you escaped, you would not be crushed underfoot. _REWIND!"_ With a sickening laugh, Nermal threw himself upon Lyman and dug his blade deep into his throat, severing his jugular vein.

"I know this feeling of dread all too well. This is his aura of evil! That man's bloodlust follows him like a dark cloud wherever he goes, even in a hellhole like Abu Dhabi. We've finally made it... Lyman? What are you doing on the ground? And when did you cut your throat so badly? L-Lyman, old friend?" Garfield stood by the gates of Nermal's manor with his gravely wounded companion, the first place Lyman had been that Monday morning. He knelt down and shook his unconscious companion, but was unable to gain any response. In another time and place, Nermal's dark deed had already been completed. _"L-Lyman? Speak to me, lad! Lyman?_ _ **LYMAN!"**_


	47. Garfield as Himself

**THE AUTHOR OF THIS FANFICTION PROUDLY SUPPORTS FIRST-COUSIN MARRIAGE. PLEASE COPY AND PASTE THIS TO YOUR PROFILE IF YOU SHARE MY BELIEFS. THANK YOU.**

 **THE ORIGINS OF GARFIELD 6 - GARFIELD AS HIMSELF**

Garfield rested his head upon Lyman's brutalized corpse. He gently wept upon the chest of his beloved companion, mourning his death at the hands of the enemy. "Nermal did this to you, didn't he? That much I'm certain about. But just how did he deal such a deadly blow without me noticing? And if that's the case, why didn't he kill me while he was here? Is this the power of Jon Arbuckle's holy corpse? If only I had some clue about how he did this. If I did, I could still avenge you, old friend…" Garfield shook his head in defeat, unable to uncover the hidden secret behind Nermal's attack.

"Wait, what's this?" Garfield looked down in surprise, spotting fresh blood streaming from Lyman's forearm that he didn't previously notice. He lifted up Lyman's wrist and pulled down his blood soaked sleeve, discovering just the hint that he was praying to Washington-sama for.

Knowing that his wounds would transfer through time, Lyman used his last breath to deal Nermal a crushing blow. With his pocket knife, he had carved the secret of his foe's ability into his own flesh. In the final moments of his life, Lyman dedicated himself to Garfield's safety by writing the following phrase: _"Nermal can reverse time"._

"Rest well, old friend…" Garfield lifted his chin and tearfully smiled, deeply touched by Lyman's unending dedication. This American warlord removed the white headband from Lyman's corpse, which was now dyed crimson with his blood, and tied it around his own head.

Clutching the eyeball of Jon Arbuckle in his hands, Garfield turned to fearlessly stare upon Nermal's distant keep, the location where his final fight would take place. "I won't let your sacrifice go to waste, Lyman. Do you hear me, Nermal? I've got something to say, so you best shut the fuck up and listen! Today, I'm going to end your reign of terror! No longer will I merely send you to Abu Dhabi. _This time, I'm sending you straight to hell, Nermal!"_

Garfield kicked down the door to Nermal's chambers and drove in atop his motorcycle, blasting Slimepunk music at full volume all the while. With a seraphic roar, he rode in with guns firing and chainsaw nunchuks flailing wildly in the wind. "Bitches, leave!" Garfield demanded, frightening off Nermal's harem of sodomous handmaidens with his patriotic might and shitraging fuckhormones.

Nermal tied his velour robe around his waist and turned to his brazen opponent, clearly irritated that his degenerate, unholy lovemaking with his whore-spawn of the netherworld was interrupted. "So, it would seem that the apprentice of Jon Arbuckle has finally arrived. And more so, it seems you evaded the traps I planted for you! You clever, clever boy. But unfortunately for you, this confirms what I had already believed about you, Garfield…" Nermal spoke in a low voice, buying time for him to withdraw his diamond-studded revolver from its holster.

"Your resolve is _WEAK!_ You only mustered this righteous anger from the loss of your idiot friend. During your previous attempt, you showed no such fury! Unless you always truly fight with the intent to destroy me and risk dying yourself, you absolutely cannot win! I fight in the pursuit of perfection, so taking my time to finish someone as pathetic as you wouldn't benefit me in the least. What will it be, Garfield? Will you still fight a hopeless battle against me, or will you run like the insect you are?" Nermal asked, speaking with a sense of smug superiority that made Garfield sick. However, as much as he hated to admit it, Garfield couldn't ignore the limitless potential of his enemy.

With their individual strengths being nearly equal, this fight would ultimately be decided by whose resolve was the strongest, just as Nermal said. And right now, the sheer, unfathomable hatred Nermal possessed was infinitely more powerful than that of his righteous opponent. "...So, this bastard can really turn back time? I haven't seen this ability in action, but it's not too much of a stretch to say that he could potentially reverse any minor injury dealt to him. To win this fight, I've only got one option: I'll need to kill him with a single blow, ending his life instantly!" Garfield paced around the chamber with his nunchuks in hand, strategizing his next move.

"So, you aren't going to run?" Nermal inquired. Garfield took a step forward and moved his machine-gun into position, "It's too late for us to back down, lad. At this range, neither of us will miss our shot. This fight will be just as you predicted: _a battle of resolve!"_

At the exact same instant, infinitely faster than the blink of an eye, both Garfield and Nermal took their deciding shot. Nermal's bullet pierced Garfield's stomach, darting right through his lung and sending blood gushing from his torso. If Garfield had shifted his weight off kilter even a millisecond later than he did, the bullet would have pierced his brain and killed him instantly. Despite his efforts, Jon is unable to convince Garfield that the holocaust is fake.

However, Garfield's shot proved to be much more fatal. In retaliation, the portly man-cat clamped his finger down upon the trigger and unloaded every last round of his gun into Nermal's throat, propelling him backwards and through the nearest window. Nermal plummeted from the zenith of his villa and fell hundreds of feet before collapsing at its base, his body now broken beyond repair.

Garfield's braided chest hair flailed majestically in the wind as he performed a backflip out of the shattered window frame. He rolled as he hit the concrete, landing perfectly beside Nermal's mangled corpse. Garfield pressed his ear against the ground, listening for Nermal's heartbeat.

Unable to find any signs that he was still alive, Garfield relaxed his muscles and limped closer to Nermal's body. Garfield let out a sigh of relief, "...He still hasn't used his rewind ability, so I'll have to assume that he's dead, or at the very least in a coma. At the very end, I can't help but pity him in a way. If I was in Nermal's place, I might have done the same. Even the mass murder and rape. Hell, I'd probably do it for a lot less than he did. In the next life I pray that you'll come back as a better person, Nermal..."

 _"...Nrgh… bgh… Y-You fat, orange f-f-fucker! M-My resolve is still the strongest… GARFIELD!"_ Nermal rasped and opened his eyes, catching Garfield by surprise. He drew his chapped lips into a sickening smile, overjoyed at having succeeded in his goal of faking his death and luring his prey towards him. Before he could react, Garfield received a bullet to both of his kneecaps, momentarily crippling him.

Nermal heaved his broken body to Garfield's side and reached into his pocket, retrieving the mummified eye of Jon Arbuckle that he retained as a keepsake. Nermal stood and shot Garfield several more times in the stomach with his revolver, ensuring that he wouldn't be escaping anytime soon.

He stood over him and cackled with a sardonic laugh, "You are just as I thought, Garfield. In the end, you didn't possess the ruthless determination needed to truly destroy me. I am like an armpit, perfect in every way! And now, I have the last part of Arbuckle's corpse to absorb into my body, making my godly power whole! If you had chosen to abandon it after I sent it to you, you could have still won. But thanks to your disgusting sentimentality, you brought the key to my ascension right to my doorstep! _I win, Garfield!"_ Nermal shoved the severed eye into his bare chest, absorbing it into his bloodstream and gaining its innate strength.

"The power of Jon Arbuckle, your master, has finally chosen me instead of you, Garfield! Before, I could only rewind time by a few hours. But now that his corpse is fully complete within me, there's no telling how my ability has evolved! Will I be able to rewind entire days? Months? Years? Centuries? It's possible I could even leap forward in time!" Nermal's bare chest radiated a godless aura that bathed the earth in shadow, casting a feeling of absolute dread over all that witnessed it.

"REWIND!" By limiting the scope of his time alteration to a small bubble around himself, Nermal instantly healed his wounds without affecting the time of the outside world. If Nermal were ever a pig, he would be a shitty, asshole pig.

As a test of his newfound strength, Nermal vaulted himself thousands of feet into the air and stared down upon the planet from above. The raucous laughter of Garfield's mighty foe pierced the heavens as he hovered overhead, "This feeling is so exquisite! This is the greatest high I've ever felt! Even the mighty Washington-sama will bow before me in time! I have _ASCENDED_ my limits and have become even more, _MUCH_ more than the mighty armpit! I am more perfect, more powerful, more flawless! I am no longer merely weak, helpless, inferior Nermal… from henceforth, I shall be known as **_ABNERMAL!"_**


	48. Garfield's Pet Force

**THIS IS IT. THE REAL FINAL CHAPTER OF SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA. INSTEAD OF WASTING YOUR TIME READING THIS FANFICTION, YOU COULD HAVE READ SUCH MASTERPIECES AS "DOES GOD EVER SPEAK THROUGH CATS?" BY DAVID EVANS OR "BEHIND THE PAINT" BY VIOLENT J OF THE INSANE CLOWN POSSE. IT MIGHT BE TIME TO RETHINK YOUR LIFE CHOICES.**

 **THE ORIGINS OF GARFIELD FINALE - GARFIELD'S PET FORCE**

With a godless, primal scream, Abnermal plummeted down to earth in a ball of fire. He plunged his fists into the dirt, shaking the planet to its core and destroying much of his mountain villa in the process. He hoisted up Garfield by the neck and grinned, "...Do you understand just how hopelessly pitiful you are before me, Garfield? You're barely even worth my concern, like an insect that treads underfoot on the road to my destiny! And now, as a test of my godly power over reality, I, the flawless and untouchable Abnermal, will _fast-forward through time!"_

With his extremities locked firmly in his grasp, Adolf Hitler effortlessly shattered every bone in Garzooka's leg with a skillful slash to his knee. The feline fell limply to the dirt, writhing in agony as Hitler dug his razor-sharp cleats into his battered appendage whilst maintaining the same cold and lifeless stare upon his face all the while. Without hesitation, the godless Führer burrowed his blood-soaked claws into the orange cat's skull, mercilessly gouging out Garzooka's right eyeball.

Abnermal pried Garfield's eyes open, forcing him to watch as his future self was relentlessly beaten and tortured by the Adolf Hitler of Richard Nixon's ill-fated future. "Ah, it looks like things aren't going too well for you, are they? However, as I hypothesized, what is to come isn't always set in stone. Considering that I'm about to kill you, it's obvious that this is an alternate reality and outcome. How about we travel a bit further back, old friend? For example, how about _ten-thousand years_ backwards?" With a snap of his fingers, both Garfield and Abnermal were flung through reality itself, taken entire centuries into the past.

Using Abraham Lincoln's legendary hat, Nixon had arrived into the past to begin his mission. "Hey, kid! Can you tell me where this place is?" Richard Nixon hurriedly questioned a young child playing basketball using a severed Communist head. This pious American collapsed to his knees from exhaustion, overwhelmed by his journey. The child grinned and helped him to his feet, "Oh, this old rock? It's called Washington #7. My name is _Michael Jordan,_ mister. What's yours?"

"Hmph, how disappointing! I don't even see you in this timeline. Perhaps my ability is constrained to follow a certain chain of events and related locations? Could it be that my power is _less_ than perfect? No, of course that isn't possible..." Abnermal held his chin, pondering the true nature of his ability. While his aggressor's back was turned, Garfield slowly clawed his way to the two unfamiliar figures he spotted in the distance. The cat reached into his pocket and withdrew a small piece of lasagna, except it wasn't actually lasagna because it was made of cartilage and dinosaur hide.

Using his own blood, Garfield wrote a message and handed it to the swart-skinned lad standing next to Nixon. "...Young master, I'm not sure who you are, but I'll gladly take anyone's help. Once you reach the correct time and date I wrote down in a few years, travel to the location I detailed on that piece of lasagna and bring all the backup you can muster. The fate of the Americaverse depends upon it! Please, _you have to-"_ Garfield vanished back into the ether before he could finish, as his body was still tethered to Abnermal's time-travel ability. Nixon's feline eyes opened wide in shock, "W-Wait, that can't be! Was that... _F-Father?"_

"...Do you know him?" Richard Nixon questioned, puzzled as to what just occurred. Michael Jordan shook his head, "I can't say I do. However, something about him seemed trustworthy to me. That was no chance meeting; it's almost as if we were pulled together by the hands of fate! If he needs the help of a fellow American, I will gladly bring my basketball to his aid".

After several more trips through the timestream, both Garfield and Abnermal were deposited back into their original location. "Still alive, Garfield? I'll take care of that, you filthy insect! In the face of such flawless power and ability, you are NOTHING!" Abnermal hoisted up one of his priceless yachts using only one hand and hurled it as a projectile, pulverizing Garfield into the tarmac.

However, unbeknownst to Abnermal, his enemy had escaped certain death by tunneling underground at the very moment it landed. Garfield surfaced and unsheathed his nunchuks, preparing to slice asunder his enemy's turkey neck from behind. "What a cheap shot! Have you no honor left, chosen of Arbuckle? You're going to have to do better than that, you low-class scum!" Abnermal drew back his leg, kicking Garfield in the teeth and foiling his surprise attack. With a furious barrage of punches and kicks, Abnermal managed to break almost every bone in Garfield's already beaten body.

Abnermal moved with lightning speed and incomparable grace, putting Garfield's superhuman abilities to shame by comparison. Garfield's puissant foe flicked him to the ground and began to furiously pummel his protruding gut, burying him several feet into the pavement.

Garfield tried to crawl away from his advancing opponent and escape, but no matter how desperately he tried to move, he found that his paralyzed body would no longer heed his commands. He grimly shook his head, left with no alternative but to accept his fate. "...Forgive me, Lyman. In this state, there's nothing else I can do against a monster like Nermal. I guess his resolve really was stronger, eh? You were right about all of those things you said about me when we first met, Jon. You should have just left me on those streets to die instead of filling my heart with false hope, making me believe I could ever amount to anything and change my fate. In the end, I guess it's all… _pointless"._

"My fellow American… stand with your chin held high and still as stone! Your faith and patriotism blaze brighter than our star-spangled banner in the light of the sun, illuminating our souls with its brilliance. You are a child of the almighty George Washington! No matter what, you bow to no man upon this godless earth! We're going to face this darkness and walk this dangerous path… _together!"_ A wise and fair voice boomed from the distance, spoken by a man whose body was obscured by the light of the rising sun.

This enigmatic figure spoke with a voice so beautiful that many lesser men would have lost their virginity simply by hearkening upon it. In the man's left hand he dribbled a basketball, and in his right hand he carried the hopes, freedoms, and dreams of the entire American race. "Wait, it can't be! _You are-!"_ Garfield trembled with fear and awe as the mahogany-skinned seraph drew nearer, followed closely by a gathering of two other righteous, musclebound American warlords.

"We met once hundreds of moons ago, ye' mighty American. I am Michael Jordan, son of Abraham Lincoln, lord of all that dribbles under the rising sun! And wherever there is a fellow patriot in need, I shall always be there to assist. I have but one question for you, O' patriotic feline: _will you slam with the best, or will you jam with the rest?"_ Jordan reached out his hand, offering Garfield a chance for salvation.

Overcome with pious manlust, the man-cat hybrid immediately nodded his head and planted a gentle kiss upon the hand of this warrior of American might. _For the only other time in his life, Garfield had met a man who he did not wish to disappoint._

"Why, it must be my lucky day! Surely, I must blessed by fate. Not only do I get to murder Monsieur Garfield, but I will also be able to destroy the final resistance to my ascension into godhood. Give me your worst!" With a thrust of his ignoble loins, Abnermal saucily beckoned his challengers forwards. Madoka Kaname, Michael Jordan's beloved wife, accepted his challenge and leapt in pursuit of the enemy.

Michael Jordan was a sensual man of unrivaled taste, especially in women. As was custom for all American maidens, Madoka wore a pair of ass hugging denim shorts made from cutoff jeans, a baseball hat decorated with the logo of the NRA, and a star-spangled banner patterned bikini top that perfectly accentuated her all-American bosom. Not that Garfield cared about any of these things, being an upright man with a deep appreciation for the finer things in life, like feminine penises and Tibetan throat singing.

Upon descent, Madoka produced her bow and prepared to strike down the odious Marxist standing before her. Abnermal cupped his chin and chuckled, "Idiotic American! Do you really think an attack from above can harm me? What foolishness, you're totally defenseless!"

While his gaze was fixated on Madoka, Richard Nixon lunged from behind and shattered Nermal's spine with his righteous bitch-slapping hand. "B-Bakana! You… you ubiquitous, whack-ass motherfucker! _REWIND!"_ Nermal snarled, reversing time around himself and nullifying the damage dealt to him by Tricky Dick.

By condensing the timestream of the present, Nermal managed to dramatically increase his own walking speed, allowing him to fight on even terms with Dick Nixon. This pious American rolled across the parched terrain and performed a backflip to safety, finding himself struggling to keep up with Nermal's frenzied attacks. Nermal took a dive, catching Nixon by the ankles and forcing him to the ground.

By rapidly accelerating the particles in Nixon's lower body with his temporal manipulation, Nermal forcefully aged his legs until they became frail and ancient, rendering him helpless. "Consider this an honor! This will be a sacrifice, and it will end with your blood spilled! My resolve is the strongest in the entire universe, fate has chosen _ME!"_ Nermal bared his rotting fangs and grinned, pointing his revolver towards Nixon's face and preparing to shoot. Nixon flinched and turned his head away, "Do your worst, ye' wretched Communist. For the protection of my father, I do not fear death!"

Michael Jordan hoisted up his treasured North Carolina shorts and turned to scowl at Nermal, coming to truly feel the same hatred Garfield felt towards him. "This… this is the power Bill Murray gifted to me with his dying breath, ensuring I could defeat the Monstars all those years ago! **_Finishing move: LOONEY TUNES DUNK!"_** Michael Jordan cried out in righteous indignation, stretching his right arm to an impossible length and crushing Nermal's skull with a dunk shot from above.

"If someone tells me that it's wrong to hope, I'll tell them they're wrong every time! _God bless America!"_ Madoka stood by her baller husband's side, supporting him by firing off her full compliment of magical arrows into Nermal's stomach. "Wait… I can still hear his breathing! Everyone, get down!" Garfield ran and tackled Jordan and his wife to the dirt, narrowly saving them from another surprise shot fired by a half-dead Nermal.

After healing his wounds, Nermal rose to his feet and shot Garfield a murderous glare. "...Did you really think you could beat me with your pitiful resolve, fagslave? Fate has chosen me, the great and flawless Abnermal, as its champion for all of eternity! It is now time for my final leap through history, the longest one yet! I shall return to the creation of the patriotverse itself and establish my rightful place as the flawless leader among all men, a true deity chosen by destiny! And now, at the end of all things, I bid thee adieu. _REWIND!"_ Nermal raised his fists to the heavens and cackled with sadistic glee, prepared to enact his last-ditch strategy for victory.

"...Wait, what? Time hasn't moved backwards at all! This… _this cannot be possible!_ I'm supposed to be perfect, flawless in every way!" Nermal stood aghast, mortified to find that his temporal abilities had been nullified by an outside force. With Michael Jordan supporting him, Garfield slowly limped towards his trembling opponent. Garfield quirked an eye ridge, "What's wrong, lad? Can't you just turn back time again and get out of this situation? I'm admittedly not a fan of bloodshed and try to avoid it if I can, but for you... _I won't feel any pity at all, Nermal!"_

With an immeasurable amount of furious hacks and slashes from his chainsaw-nunchuks, Garfield utterly disemboweled Nermal without mercy. This feline of unbound fuckferocity finished his attack by socking Nermal in the face with a power that could only be comparable to deflowering ten-billion sharks simultaneously, blowing Nermal's jaw right off of its hinges and sending him flying hundreds of feet into the distance. As foretold in legend, _it was metal as fuck._

Nermal popped his jaw back into place and cast Garfield a monstrous, black look, "Y-You deceitful bastard… how is this possible? I was the one destined by fate to mold the future! Why did Jon Arbuckle choose an insect like you over me? I… I was supposed to be like a glorious armpit, perfect in every conceivable way!" Garfield lowered his gaze, seeming almost disappointed that Nermal still refused to recant his wicked ways in the final moments of his miserable life.

Garfield removed the lasagna joint from between his lips and sighed. He moved away from Michael Jordan and came to stand on his own weight before his fallen opponent, "The reason isn't complicated at all, lad. You were so caught up in your delusions that you could never have predicted that I, a mere _'insect with a weak resolve'_ as you would put it, could ever outsmart you. Every time you rewinded time and healed yourself, you were just swapping places with a past version of your body, right? My theory was that you would eventually rewind into a body without Jon Arbuckle fused to it, removing your powers. Basically, all I had to do was stall for time…"

Without any hesitation whatsoever, Garfield withdrew his machine gun and placed it by Nermal's side. "I can't allow you to live, but the thought of murdering you in that helpless state doesn't exactly appeal to me. Go ahead- take up my gun and end your life with dignity. It's what Jon Arbuckle would have done for any of his enemies. Or if you prefer, you could just wait here until you inevitably bleed out. I know one thing for sure: I'm ready for this goddamned Monday to end…" Garfield groaned, casually turning his back to Nermal and walking off in the direction of the waning sun.

Michael Jordan's nipples hardened in amazement, a sign of his deep respect for this lasagna-loving warlord of divine fucksavagery, "This man-cat, Garfield… _what an American!_ Even after all the trouble that monster has caused him, he still chooses to grant him an honorable death. Truly, even after all I've seen and done, I still have much to learn from George Washington and his divine children!" Nermal grinded his fangs together, fuming with vengeful rage. "Garfield… _that pompous, bitch-ass motherfucker!_ Who does he think he is, simply walking away from the mighty Abnermal, treating my entire existence like mere trash? I… _I won't stand for it!"_

"...Don't you dare ignore me, Garfield! You're not going to drive me into the depths of darkness and solitude like you did all those years ago, not again! _I will NOT be ignored!"_ Mustering up the last bit of strength left in his ruined body, Nermal bolted upright and wildly fired at Garfield using his own weapon. With a speed far beyond reckoning, Garfield whipped around and caught every one of the bullets flying at him between his pudgy fingers.

Realizing the grave mistake he had just committed, Nermal began to panic. "P-Please, don't kill me! I'll change my wicked ways, I swear! I'm flawed, imperfect! I admit it! I'll give you whatever you want! Please, just spare me!" He clasped his hands together and heaved his body across the dirt, whimpering like the philistine fagslave he truly was. Garfield slowly shook his head as he stepped closer, "...That was a mistake. I hoped you had some decency left in you, but now I realize that I was completely wrong. You're lower than Odie's shit, Nermal. I will reduce your very existence to silence… **_SILENCE LIKE LASAGNA!"_**

With one final, galaxy-shattering punch, Nermal's body burst into billions of bucketfuls of fleshy carrion, showering the parched earth with his most unholy ichor and viscera. Garfield lifted his chin to the sky, and in that moment he could have sworn that he saw the smiling faces of all his fallen allies gazing down from the heavenly White House, the final destination of all American-kind. "Never again shall Nermal, nor anyone else, have the power to control absolute fate! I'll make sure of that. _Lyman, Jon, Odie, Calvin…_ it's all over now. You can rest easy knowing that Nermal has finally been vanquished, right?"

Michael Jordan rested a caring hand upon Garfield's shoulder, "Are you alright, my American brother? Is there anything we can do for you?" Garfield made a mirthless smile and shook his head, "No, I'll be alright. It's just… so goddamn annoying, y'know? For all of my friends to die right in front of me, yet I know I will never join them. Above all else, I'm a survivor. Even when everyone is else is dead and gone, I'm sure I'll still be around. Do you understand that kind of hopeless feeling, lad?"

Garfield turned his head, concealing the tears streaming down his face and collecting on his leather boots. "It's… _it's so goddamn annoying…"_

After parting ways with the hearty warlords of the Biker Brethren, Garfield retrieved the corpse of Jon Arbuckle and burned it. This way, never again could another tragedy caused by the inherent power of these legendary artifacts fall upon the Americaverse. The legacy of Jon Arbuckle and Garfield's youth faded away in an instant, bringing a close to that chapter of this pious warrior's life.

"I was quite impressed by the star-spangled prowess you showed the other day. The Americaverse could use someone like you, Garfield. A fearless defender, whose heart yearns only for the godless, kinky love of Lady Liberty," A mysterious man clad in a black trenchcoat with a stovepipe hat affixed atop his head approached from behind. From hearkening upon his words alone, Garfield felt strangely soothed by the appearance of this mysterious man. His commanding, yet soothing presence perplexed him, warming his heart and breaking down his harsh exterior almost as if he was in the presence of a close friend. To Garfield, it was immediately clear that this stranger was no ordinary man.

This pasta-loving feline raised any eyebrow, "And who might you be, lad?" The hooded figure roared with thunderous laughter, slapping Garfield of the back and throwing back the veil covering his face to properly greet him. "I am Abraham 'Grizzly Bear Rape' Lincoln, father of Michael Jordan and grandfather of Charles Barkley. I am starting something of a resistance movement, a righteous conclave of doughty patriots assembled to protect our liberties and the American way from the growing forces of Communism. We call ourselves the Biker Brethren, and I want you to join us, Garfield".

Nixon vanished into thin air just as Adolf Hitler broke down the door to Garfield's ancient fallout shelter. The patriotic warmaster had vanished, leaving behind only the sacred helm of Washington in his stead. Garfield killed himself and Adolf Hitler by detonating the explosives, engulfing this distant planet in a glorious, heavenly astral fuckflare that could be clearly viewed from millions of lightyears away.

A single tear trickled down Garfield's face as his body was disintegrated along with the imploding planet. He took the time to reminisce about his life and all of the fond memories he had made, including raising Richard Nixon and his fateful meeting with Jon Arbuckle all those centuries ago.

"...At the very end, I always knew I'd be the last one left. _God, I really hate Mondays…"_


	49. Extra: 2013 Edition Introduction

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

 **INTRODUCTION AND HISTORY  
**

* * *

 **The next generation of American heroes is here! Battle hardened patriot, Sonic the Hedgehog, fights the forces of Communism across the galaxy to protect our righteous stars and stripes. Rated T for heavy amounts of freedom.**

* * *

Long before I started writing fanfiction for the American people, there was another, much older work of mine. In 2013, I began writing a story called Sonic the Hedgehog: Defender of America. It ran for about four months, went on a massive hiatus, and then was unceremoniously pulled from the site.

I never bothered to reupload it, but later regretted not doing so when the copy I kept was accidentally wiped. It wasn't until later that I learned of the small following my story found itself, which really inspired me to make the remake that has just now wrapped up.

I've searched through dozens of cached pages and archives, but I've never been able to find the complete story aside from a few bits and pieces. However, after years of searching, I've finally found it: the original 2013 edition of Sonic the Hedgehog: Defender of America, something I had thought to have been lost forever. Unfortunately, chapters 35 and 36 are still missing. Otherwise, it's totally complete! I'd like to thank the people at Archive Team for saving my old work, along with thousands of other forgotten pieces of significantly less patriotic fanfiction.

To avoid any unnecessary confusion, I've decided to publish this as an addendum to the remake rather than as a separate story. You won't need to read this to understand the current story line, and I have no actual plans to finish writing it. If the sequel has been published by the time you've reached this point, feel free to skip ahead and read my newer, much better work. But if you're interested in continuing, I hope you'll enjoy reading this little fanfic as much I did rediscovering it.


	50. (2013) Sonic: Defender of Freedom

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

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 **CHAPTER 1 - SONIC: DEFENDER OF FREEDOM**

* * *

Sonic flew through time and space on his signature Harley Davidson™ motorcycle, channeling his hormonal teen frustrations and bodily fluids into his guitar, of which he appropriately named _"Freedom"._ He thought back to a simpler time, when he was but a small teenager on the space colony of Kentucky's moonbase, which orbited the planet America II. He made an honest living as a lumberjack, relishing every slice of his axe, chopping away until he was pure of heart. All he had to guide him was the holy book, and a tattoo of a bald eagle on his left bicep which when flexed would make the eagle soar majestically across his bulging, vein-throbbing arm.

He remembered the day he was chosen by the goddess _Anne Frank_ to be the defender of American freedom, one of the finer moments of his childhood. His guitar was a gift, originally forged by _Abraham Lincoln_ while wearing the Ancient Celestial Tiger War Garb, the very same armor worn during the battle of Emancipation Proclamation. During this grievous battle, Lincoln was sealed in a prison of amber by John Wilkes Booth, one of the six unholy lieutenants of yore that were hunted to extinction. Anne Frank gave him this guitar so he could one day protect the freedom and liberties of his people.

A single American tear fell from his eye and a golden river filled his crisp blue jeans as he played a song on his guitar of his feelings, singing all of the words of the holy book backwards, forwards, and sidewards. Although the year was 7980XX, Sonic knew there was only one true 80's deep in his inner fibers. Was it destiny? Was he chosen to carry this burden? No. But yet he did, as any true patriot would. Signifying the end of his puberty, a mighty forest of hair spread across his finely toned chest and abs, and all who were there could have sworn they heard the echoing cries of a Bald eagle.

His journey of self discovery was now over, but a greater challenge awaited him. He heard the sound of Indie Music, a thing so Un-American it could make even the mighty eagle shed a tear. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw them. Hundreds of mopeds and segways, ridden by festering, disease ridden new-age hipsters garbed in the cosmic space armor. From their head they wore metal fedoras, and on their armor they donned raiment of ironic sayings, and in their soul they donned nothing. For they were not touched by grace, but rather, by Communist sin.

They came from an outer lying galaxy where no grace dwelled, a festering hole where sodomy thrived. And where sodomy thrives, Marxist things shall prosper, as they were ruled by a loathsome behemoth in which they worshiped. They swung chains of rusty metal and drove circles around the American Hedgehog, hogtying him like some sort of hog. Sonic showed no fear, so he pulled _Freedom_ out of his fanny pack and began to play.

"If you're going to act like a bitch, you're going to die like a bitch. _It's time to rock the fuck out!"_ The hedgehog guffawed at their nignorance, and in that moment, he could have sworn he saw the spirit of Abraham Lincoln descend upon him, slicing the fuck out of their foes with his axe. It didn't do anything besides look cool because he was a ghost. As he finished, the sky was showered with meteors of red, white, and blue. The foul creatures scrambled back into the wicked void from which they came, but they would be back. Abe rested his pulsating hand on Sonic's shoulder, staring into the waters of his murky blue eyes.

"Sonic, I am sending a mighty steed to fetch you. He is _Freedom-Song,_ mightiest of the Eagle lords in the Americaverse. Meet me at Liberty 9, my orbiting space station, on the eve of July 4th, the only day in which all seven galaxies are aligned at once," Abe stated honestly with the fervor of ten thousand eagles in heat. Sonic smiled the kind of smile you have when something bad happens and you try to be positive about it anyways as Abraham faded away, looking into the stars to see the steed Abe sent. It was a giant eagle for most, but to Sonic, it was just the right size.


	51. (2013) A Tomb of Liberty

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2 - A TOMB OF LIBERTY**

* * *

The eagle soared across the cosmic entanglement of the 9th dimension, relishing the howling screams that only it could hear as it destroyed quadrants of planets with nothing more than a quantum pulse emitter and good old American ingenuity. Sonic had more pressing matters to ponder, as he was trying to think of why the demigod Abraham "Liberty" Lincoln would summon him. He had heard the legends of Honest Abe, everyone had.

It was foretold in ancient texts that he would fuck a Grizzly bear to death and free the slaves all before his breakfast steak. Abe was probably the goodest good Sonic was ever going to lay his eyes upon. Just thinking about it made his prosthetic genitals hewn from machine guns become erect, slicing a planet or two in half from their throbbing girth.

Sonic laid his face upon the eagle's exposed flesh, feeling it pulsate with the hopes and dreams of all Americans. The righteous steed like that of a dream arrived at the orbiting space station of Liberty 9, tomb of Honest Abe. It was built of a thousand log homes and was imbued with the demonic blood of the slaves that he had freed, for they were not ever truly free, for Abraham had power over all that lived and sexed.

"This is as far as I'll take you, star child. I have business to attend to on Canada's moonbase," The eagle cawed in its angelic voice, for a patriot's work was never done. Sonic approached the door of the moonbase and grinded his sweaty, bare body against its frame, getting splinters all in his flesh. Though he didn't mind, as he was thinking back to the wise words of his father when he broke his leg while trying to mount his first virgin Grizzly bear. _"It builds character"._

The door was opened by a diminutive figure that rode in on a wheelbarrow, for he had no legs. "I am the _Little Kim Jong,_ my master is waiting for you," Said the pathetic, subhuman, servile being, likely a slave. Sonic was no stranger to this, owning many slaves in his childhood, of which he would sacrifice daily to appease the goddess Anne Frank. He thought about his friend Tails, and how he was slain while trying to deflower his first virgin Grizzly. He never liked Tails.

Sonic and Little Kim Jong waltzed through the grand halls of Lincoln the Honest's final resting place, admiring every finely sculpted detail of his moonbase. The heads of Grizzly bears were stacked in a pile in the center of the hall, burning in a glorious fire that supplied heat to the entire Americaverse.

When Sonic becomes a dying old man, looking back on his life and achievements, he would be proud knowing that he lived to see this glorious moment. He would turn to the doctor and say, "I'm ready to die, you bastard. Pull the plug". And then he would be dead, knowing with the eternal knowledge that he had lived to see the most precious things in life.

They finally approached a larger than life statue of Abraham Lincoln, although it wasn't a statue, but rather a tomb. And it wasn't a tomb either, but rather a congregation of laser beams forming a pack of surfing wolves making sweet, American love inside of an astral fuckflame the likes Sonic had only read in books. Except Sonic didn't know how to read.

"Master must play a song to awaken those that are dead," Instructed Little Kim Jong in the most Un-American, yellow skinned way possible, only to receive a stern slap from the American hedgehog. This was followed by a giggle from Jong. Sonic took out Freedom and began to play a song on his guitar that could wake the dead. He used this song only once on his friend Tails after his death, only so he could watch him get slain by a Grizzly bear twice. He really didn't like Tails.

The tomb exploded as Abe the Honest's ears caught wind of the music. Blood began erupting from his mouth, and he laughed. He laughed forever. Abe's finely toned skin was regrown from the precipice of nothingness, and Sonic continued to rock the fuck out until his entire body was resurrected. Abraham was a glorious sight to behold; one of his hands was a chainsaw made of flesh, and the other a guitar.

Abraham grabbed Little Kim Jong and stuck him between his lips. He pulled out his lighter and burnt him alive, smoking the tiny fuckling like a mighty blunt. He then threw Jong's corpse on the ground, stomping on him until he was nothing but ashes. He got what he deserved.


	52. (2013) The Two Heirs of Lincoln

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3 - THE TWO HEIRS OF LINCOLN  
**

* * *

Abraham Lincoln, who was entombed in the Ancient Celestial Tiger War Garb, unzipped his pants and placed his guitar over Sonic's shoulders. "I hereby dub you _Sonic Lincoln._ You are now my son and heir as the prince of the Americaverse. As long as I still draw breath, you shall rule beside me in blood," Abe Lincoln said in his booming, masculine voice that hearing alone was enough to make you lose your virginity. He spoke with a single tear in his eye, but no more than that, because then it would be gay.

"Thank you, father," Sonic Lincoln whimpered, coming close into his father's bosom until they were touching. Moments like these Sonic lived his life for. The Americaverse may be a sinful place, but the little good there was is worth fighting for. Freedom, liberty, barbecues, playing your guitar by a gasoline fire. These were the things, as the chosen guardian of freedom, Sonic was born to protect.

Then, they heard it. The booming, echoing, wailing sounds of godless creatures that Sonic dared not even imagine. The hisses and growls grew louder and louder, and the door leading into the tomb was shaken by its handles. "Quickly my son, help me barricade the door!" Abe rasped. He tore off his shirt and lifted the virgin grizzly bear heads out of the fire, stacking them against the hinges of the door to keep it closed.

Sonic tore off his shirt as well, even though he wasn't wearing a shirt. The hedgehog picked up Little Kim Jong's corpse, even though his father killed the fuck out of it, and used it to clamp the door shut. Abraham Lincoln then turned into a train and rode circles all around the room. Though, even the artful crafts of two sweaty patriots were not enough to keep these demon spawn out of their inner sanctum. Hordes of dark skinned creatures covered in blisters, warts, bruises, and dried horse blood poured into the tomb. There were so many that Sonic didn't know how many there were in number form because he couldn't count.

A lone creature garbed in Baby Zombie Hitler's Golden Armor and a backwards hat stepped forward, clearly the spokesman of the horde. Surely, this was a hybrid dybbuk spawn of a virgin American woman and one of the Unholy Lieutenants of the Communist Party slain long ago in battle. "Hipsters... what loathsome creatures from a land where all scream for naught. What authority do you have to treat with me, tiny fucklings?" Boomed Abraham Lincoln, of whom was currently swathed in his speaking robes and doo-rag.

The creatures answered not, for they could not speak the traditional American tongue. They donned weapons of clubs and knives, and even the heinous torture device invented by Eddie of the Clan Murphy in moon year 16799X: a wooden board with a nail in it. Though, the creatures were hideously outmatched, for they believed not in the use of firearms like all Communists, shunning the American way like a slag shuns the poor.

Sonic and his father pulled out their machine guns and mounted their Harley Davidson motorcycles, driving to and fro, carving a path through the vile spawn. One of the beasts got lucky, slicing a gash upon Abraham's genitals and making them bleed red, white, and blue. Although the patriots escaped the tomb and the trial of the hipster spawn was long behind them, Abraham suffered from blood loss. He lost control of his metal steed, collapsing upon the ground.

"F-Father!" Sonic whispered very loudly, so it wasn't actually a whisper at all. "Star child, leave me here. I will find a way to escape, but you must find my son, for he will know what to do and give you a quest. He was born from a marriage I would like to forget. S-Sonic, the first virgin grizzly bear I deflowered did not die, it gave birth to an heir of all things good and holy! _H-His name was-"_ Abraham began to speak, only to be grabbed by his legs and pulled into the darkness by hipster spawn.

He did not kick or scream, though this time, he dropped down two large tears. On Sonic's homeworld of Kentucky's Moonbase, it was taught that as a final American goodbye, you would allow two tears to fall from your eye. This was a technique first invented by the artful hands of the mythical George Washington, the god of the Americaverse.

Sonic did the same before driving into the stars on his Harley Davidson motorcycle. Though he was not as strong of a patriot, so bursted into a righteous river of tears as he looked back at Liberty 9 one last time, watching it explode in a holy astral fuckflare.


	53. (2013) Strongzor the Dinosaur Slayer

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4 - STRONGZOR THE DINOSAUR SLAYER  
**

* * *

Sonic cried for at least five whole hours, the only amount which is culturally acceptable for the death of a holy visionary and a savior in his culture. He landed upon an asteroid and carved Abraham's initials into his motorcycle using one of his own teeth he ripped out of his mouth. Not that he cared, he had more.

He rode his Harley Davidson like a righteous metallic steed, bopping his head to the beat as he rocked out while soaring through space. He thought back to how he and his friend Tails would do this in their youth, before Sonic pushed him into a virgin Grizzly bear sanctuary. He really, really hated Tails. Sonic was interrupted while rocking the fuck out as he trod into forbidden space. Harley Davidson motorcycles flew left and right and missiles shot from their headlights as they fought savage dinosaurs on the battlefield.

They were mounted by freedom-hating, flag burning Arabs that were swaddled in pale robes that cloaked their faces and nothing else, for they feared all that was good and holy and shunned the truth like the spawn of Satan shuns the teat of an Angel. This was the most American of all pastimes. "You don't just interrupt an American man while he's rocking out," Sonic thought aloud. "What the hell?"

As any hairy patriot would do, Sonic mounted his mighty motorcycle steed and drove into the battle to fight alongside his outnumbered brethren. He unzipped his pants, allowing his machine gun genitals to be freed from the prison which bound them for so many a year. His loins thirsted for blood, so they began brutally tearing and shredding apart all that crossed their path. Sonic was smarter than the average bear, so he signaled for the other space bikers to follow him as he drove up the back of Pube-Slayer, the king of all dinosaurs.

The brotherhood slew the Arabs mounted upon the dinosaur and then stabbed the righteous beast with their chainsaw guitars, slaying the fuck out of it. The head biker removed his helmet that was hewn from wolverine skulls, revealing the face of a rugged bear-like man whose face beheld many a battle. His rugged skin was the casualty of many wars, and in his eyes was the shadow of his innocence, shivering in a corner like a tiny hipster fuckling, long lost to the sinful world he fought to protect.

"I am _Strongzor,_ slicer of one thousand godless beasts, Lord of Detroit's moonbase. For many a year my ancestral homeland has been invaded by these foul, flag-burning gremlins of which I share my hatred. Though, you may call me _Michael Jordan,_ my birth name of which I share with no one besides everyone," Said Michael. He gave Sonic a firm, American hug, followed by three pats on the back just to be thorough.

"And I am Sonic, protector of the Americaverse. I was accompanied by two others, a slave and a demigod. Perhaps you know the man of which I speak, Abraham Lincoln," Sonic explained, hanging his head in shame that he could do nothing to save his adoptive father.

"...Abraham was my father. You may not think it be like it is, but it do. He abandoned me in my youth to protect our holy country. I was raised by my mother, a Grizzly bear. I had a fine country upbringing, as any decent, upright American should," Explained Michael, trying to look away from Sonic's icy blue gaze. "Then, perhaps it would vex you to know that he was slain in battle. A horde of subhuman hipsters killed the fuck out of him. It was pretty brutal," Sonic continued.

There was no time for grieving now. The Arabs would soon be upon them, for as long as the Americaverse existed, they would continue to thrive in their sin. "Quickly, follow me! We shall ride for my ancestral homeland," Instructed Michael "Strongzor" Jordan. He climbed aboard his motorcycle and rode off into the sun with the Biker Brethren and soon Sonic chasing behind his tail.


	54. (2013) The Velociraptor Chase

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5 - THE VELOCIRAPTOR CHASE  
**

* * *

The Biker Brethren approached the planet of Detroit's Moobase. Their engines roared and their chest hairs flailed majestically in the wind as they descended to the surface of the space colony like true American heroes. It was well in the midst of the night now, unsafe to travel as this was the time the Arab scouts would set out on their velociraptors. They hunted for blood, sport, and honor amongst their sinful, subhuman people.

The patriots set up camp, starting a fire made of the spare tires from their Harley Davidson motorcycles. The frothy aroma of the fire brought Sonic back to his childhood, a simpler time, and this precious moment he spent with the Biker Brethren was the first time he had felt truly at home for decades. The Americaverse was changing, but could he change with it? These were the questions that could keep any patriot awake at night.

Like any prideful American men would, the bikers removed their helmets and shirts. They sat around the fire in their blue jeans, passing a joint around of which they smoked to ease their nerves so they could prepare for hyper slumber.

"Sonic, I believe it is time I should introduce you to the other members of our fellowship, the _Biker Brethren._ We are truly a brodacious, brolicious band of brothers, and we will do our best to keep you safe so you may continue your quest," Michael Jordan said, taking a long, hard toke of the dank kush in his calloused hands. He blew a righteous smoke ring shaped like an eagle into the sky, a spell as old as the Americaverse itself to scare off surf wolves on summer nights.

Michael first pointed to an obese, orange man-cat smoking a lasagna cigar, surely a hybrid bastard child like Strongzor himself made by the godless love of man and beast. "This is _Garfield the Wise,_ the eldest member of our party, wielder of the nunchuks made of chainsaws. Sitting beside him is _Charles Barkley,_ my dear son of whom bears the title of _Slamzor,_ though upon my death he shall be promoted to _Strongzor of the Slam-meal,"_ Michael introduced them, and they greeted Sonic with a sweaty hug and a pint of ale like true Americans.

"The two on your right are _Bugs Bunny_ and _Richard Nixon._ The latter was a former demigod stripped of his title and exiled after his betrayal in the five year war of Watergate," Explained Strongzor. Sonic gave a firm hug to the bunny but merely shot Nixon a stern glare with the intensity of one thousand suns. "Half-Brother, I thought you would have kept better company than that fuckmad, flag-burning gaylord".

"Now you listen here, star child. I've changed since then! I've renounced my ways and have instead come to the teat of Lady Liberty for the suckling of freedom. I know secrets of the enemy you couldn't even imagine, and you will learn to respect me in time," Rasped Nixon in a scathing tone as he polished his chainsaw guitar angrily. They were interrupted by the godless, howling caws of Velociraptors and their riders in the tall grass not far behind them.

"Stop your bickering, you slags! We ride now! Put out the fire, leave no trace!" Bugs Bunny commanded. The Biker Brethren mounted their motorcycles and rode into the jungle, followed closely behind by Arab scouts.

The Raptors were right on their tail. Garfield swung his chainsaw nunchucks and decapitated the fuck out of at least four or five of them. The bikers took a detour through the jungle, cutting at the mountains enveloping them with their guitars and unhinging mighty boulders which crushed many a raptor and his rider. One of the raptors ran atop a fallen boulder and hurled itself onto Bugs Bunny, and after a brief struggle it clamped its teeth down onto his neck and ripped his head clean off.

This was the last straw for young Barkley, who out of raw, American fury turned around and rode straight for the Arabs. The other bikers pulled their heads out of their pants and joined him, making quick work of these prehistoric fucklings and avenging their fallen brother in arms.


	55. (2013) Abraham Lincoln Returns

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6 - ABRAHAM LINCOLN RETURNS  
**

* * *

The Biker Brethren gathered around the edge of a stream as the sun began to rise over the water. Garfield and Strongzor carried Bug Bunny's limp body and placed him in the shallow water, closing his lifeless eyes for him even though he no longer had a head. Barkley, being the youngest of the fellowship, was the most emotional over his death. He was being comforted by his loving father, Michael Jordan.

They gave him the proper things he would take with him before departing into the _Great White House in the Sky,_ the place all Americans go after their passing. A burning flag, a copy of the Holy Bible opened on John 3:16, and a bottle of moonshine. Nixon grabbed his torch and dropped it on his body, exploding the fuck out of Bugs and tossing his entrails to and fro. As was tradition for any American funeral, a flock of eagles descended upon them and devoured his remains, pecking at the ground and splashing in his blood like schoolchildren. _American schoolchildren._

Meanwhile, in another time and place, Abraham Lincoln awoke in a cell deep underground. This was it: the hipster fucklings' underground hoard. Built from their hatred and malice, this foundry of evil was where they corrupted many an innocent man through torture, stripping him of his rights and liberties and making him into one of them, yet merely a hollow shell of the patriotic roots which he once held dear.

Abraham's feline eyes wedged between the bars, giving him a fine view of all his surroundings. The remains of many a Harley Davidson bike were strewn across the ashen ground. Such disregard for freedom made Abe the Honest sick, so he vomited righteous chunks of blood all over the floor. These bars were nothing to a patriot, so with a mighty pelvic thrust he bursted through his confines, snapping his shackles.

Upon the sound of his escape, the Marxist hordes chased after him, mounting their segways and skidding across the ground. The foundry was built of many ramshackle wooden bridges, thousands of them interconnecting like a mighty faggot over a lava stream. Abraham summoned his guitar from a void where no grace dwells, playing a song to call for aid. His mighty eagle steed descended from the sky in a ball of fire, and the planet shook with its impact to the ground.

The majestic bird hungered for blood. It dove into the fray, grabbing at least one hundred hipster fucklings in his jaws and crushing even more beneath his talons. Abe joined his fellow patriot in combat, mutilating many a fuckling with his flesh-choked chainsaw hand. Abraham mounted his steed and they flew upwards, crashing through many of the awful machines and towers of wickedness enveloping the corners of this godless land.

Abe waved a burning Confederate American flag and shot left and right with his dual machine guns. The eagle roared and sent many hipsters flying from the raw, untapped power of freedom alone. Abe pulled back on his reins, making the eagle shoot flames from its mouth. The fire spread, setting the foundry ablaze like the most American of barbecues. The hipsters in the factory below were burned alive, in a place where they forged insidious devices like segways and low-hanging jeans from salvaged parts of Harley Davidson motorcycles.

"Where do YOU think you're going, Lincoln?" A booming voice shouted in a throaty grumble. Abraham turned around, and his nose crinkled from the repulsive creature he laid his eyes upon. A corpulent beast ridden with disease and filth approached him. Its body was massive, but its legs were mere stubs entombed in a wheelbarrow. It wore nothing but a tattered rag and a crown of bones, and its eyes were mere slits before the gaping feline eyes of Lincoln. "I am the _Big Kim Jong Un,_ sole leader of the fuckling unkindness! For many a year you enslaved my father, and I thirst for revenge!" Big Kim Jong Un roared. Lincoln merely smiled and laughed a hearty, American laugh.

"Riddle me this, Big Jong: what rhymes with _freedom?"_ Asked Lincoln, stroking the fine hairs on his chin. "...What?" Asked Jong, as he was not a terribly bright beast. "Eagle rape," Responded Lincoln with a smile, and without warning thousands of eagles descended upon Jong, tearing at his flesh until he was nothing but bones and a memory. The eagles then hunted the living hipsters, feasting upon their flesh as Abraham nodded in approval. Lincoln then flew into the sky, heading straight for Detroit's moonbase.


	56. (2013) The Strength of Jordan Fails

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 7 - THE STRENGTH OF MICHAEL JORDAN FAILS  
**

* * *

The Biker Brethren carved a path through the jungle, slashing and rocking their way through the Detroitian Woodlands. The fellowship battled their way through Surf Wolves, Kung Fu Wizards, and leaping, chainsaw juggling Bear-Frogs. "So, how about after our journey is over, we cruise down to the beach and maybe fry up some fried wieners? How does that sound, brother Strongzor?" Sonic asked with a twinkle in his eyes, simultaneously combing his mullet and taking a bite of Surf Wolf carrion.

"We have more pressing matters at hand, as we must seek council with the _Harlem Globetrotters,_ for they will help us on our quest of freedom. Wielders of the nine shimmering Basketballs, of which they forged the moonbase of Detroit with the utmost surety. They are the guardians of the holy ritual of Basketball, believed by Death Metal Philosophers to be invented by Abraham Lincoln after slicing off the head of Bin Laden the Terrible with one fell swoop and tossing it into a pit. As is custom, they play the game the same way by throwing the opposing side's severed heads into a hollow ditch of the dung of a thousand fucklings. Their heads are then delivered to their widows, who we shame by making them gather wood. It is a sport of honor my half-brother, of which I am a professional at, and I hope that young Slamzor will one day be too," Jordan explained. He knelt down, transmogrifying his hand into a small hound that would goeth forth and seeketh the safe path.

The hound traveled upon a heavily worn path, and the Brethren followed the beast and ended up on the edge of a cliff. In the distance stood the city of the Globetrotter Council, the Detroitian peoples' last stronghold against the forces of terrorism.

As they drove their motorcycles down the cliff-face, Strongzor told many a great tale of the Globetrotters' customs and ancestral history. Garfield the Wise swung his chainsaw nunchucks near his direction, evidently in no mood for such hogwash when they had a mission to complete. "If this nigga keeps talking shit, I'm going to deck him the fuck out..." Garfield thought in his mind, spitting into his palm and rubbing it on his face; nature's shower as they called it.

They drove into the grand halls of the Globetrotter Council building, still riding in their Harley Davidsons' and refusing to use the parking space like any hairy Patriots would. Nixon kicked down the door and the Brethren rode into a grand gathering of the Detroitian people, driving circles around the room and interrupting the fuck out of their meeting.

Strongzor dismounted his righteous metallic steed, bowing before the grand leader of the Globetrotters: Snoop of Lions, son of the late Snoop Doggy Dogg, lord of all that dribbles under the rising sun. It was no time before Jordan noticed something had gone awry. Snoop did not appear as his puissant self, moving jerkily like a puppet pulled on strings hidden to all, his face sepulchral and freedomless like an automaton's pathetic attempt at imitating human life.

"Take arms! This is not the man that taught me everything I know, saving me from the unrelenting, icy grip of the hood life, enriching my tiny boy mind with the virtues of Basketball! Wrought this niggard a new crevice, this day we fight!" Michael Jordan roared like a mighty grizzly, grabbing his chainsaw guitar and running for the false Globetrotters.

Nixon grabbed the Brethren's weapons: Chainsaw Nunchucks for Garfield the Wise, the fair guitar Freedom for Sonic Lincoln, and everything else for everyone else. The false Globetrotters contorted and squirmed from their Americanesque might, revealing their true shapes. They were 7-foot tall Arab terrorists swaddled in swarthy, murky shadow, the sole result of dwelling in the nethermost freedomless lands of the Americaverse for so long.

Michael Jordan embraced his inner roots and became full-bear. He charged ahead, grabbing a terrorist and slamming him upon his outstretched leg, shattering his spine like a lissom fuckling. Though, in mere seconds, the Arab stood up without a scratch on its hairless, childlike body. "W-What sort of Negromancy is this?" Garfield guffawed, joining Sonic's side as they decked the fuck out of several Arabs, only for them to bear no wounds like the spirits of old.

The head terrorist, surely possessed by the spirit of the ancient dybbuk John Wilkes Booth, stabbed Strongzor with its noisome, barbed-wire covered Axe Guitar. He then fell to his knees and howled a great howl like only the mightiest of the American warlords. _"HALF-BROTHER!"_ Sonic bellowed as the Arab removed its flesh-coated instrument. The American hedgehog tore his belt and dropped his pants, allowing the demon lurking within his mechanical genitals to be freed. It lunged, cannibalizing the terrorist scum and tearing him limb from limb.

Just when all hope seemed lost, Abraham Lincoln dropped through the roof in a ball of holy astral fuckfire. He smirked, drawing his guitar which was made from the burning light of the American spirit itself. "Fly, yee' tosspots! As long as I draw breath, thenceforward you shall be banished and never return!" Abraham boomed, and the Arab terrorists fled at the mere sight of this sweaty patriot, only to be devoured by his mighty Eagle steed. "F-Father! You're alive!" Sonic gasped in awe, falling to his pantsless knees in joy.

"There is no time for sadness, star child. Strongzor is in a dire need, stabbed by the poison tip of the Arab-Magister's blade. This grievous wound is beyond my power to heal, so we must to take him to Canada's moonbase. Or as I prefer to call it, America Junior. There dwells the fair goddess Anne Frank and the true Globetrotters, lest shall Strongzor be writhen for one thousand years in agony," Stated Abe, looking deep into the sallow, unconscious eyes of his true son, who was still leaking mighty pools of blood. And like any patriot, he bled red, white, and blue.

"Master Lincoln, what is that in the distance?" Asked young Charles Barkley, pointing out the doors of the golden hall and into the city, where hordes of creatures marched in a line and advanced towards them. Lincoln readied his chainsaw hand at the sight of the swarthy warriors in the distance, "Just as I had feared, terrorists never come alone. Those are Communists, foul creatures bred by the dark wizard _Karl Marx._ Their muscles rippling and their shoulders broad, they are a super soldier created for one purpose: destroying freedom itself..." Abraham explained in a whisper. He paused, grabbing Michael Jordan and placing him atop Freedom-Song for safety. "Prepare for Battle!"


	57. (2013) Sonic Rocks the Fuck Out

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 8 - SONIC ROCKS THE FUCK OUT  
**

* * *

Sonic drove through the halls of the Globetrotter Council building on his Harley Davidson motorcycle, scavenging for any Americanesque weapon that could help in his battle against the common enemy of all free men. The patriotic hedgehog came upon a garage door, and within dwelled a mighty 18-wheeler truck, slick like a greased pig upon an open flame.

The metallic behemoth was that Sonic had heard of only in legend. As was spoken of in tale and song, this vehicle was as mighty as ten thousand Harley Davidson motorcycles and several times as large. The American Flag emblazoned upon its side was enough to make any patriot Americagasm, and Sonic knew this must have been a divine gift from Lady Liberty herself.

Sonic opened the side-door, finding the golden key already in the vehicle in which he could wake this righteous machine that had slumbered for so long. With a flick of his wrist and a twist of the key the truck came alive, emitting fumes into the sky which many an eagle circled around, inhaling these fumes in which was their patriotic sustenance.

The hedgehog was amazed by the mighty speed and strength displayed by the old girl as he laid his foot upon the pedals, and if he had not sworn an oath to protect Freedom which prohibited him from being wed, he would surely have married this truck in which he shared his feelings. Sonic and his betrothed would be wed on Kentucky's Moonbase, next to the Virgin Grizzly Bear sanctuary of which he spent much of his childhood. Before long the sweet purrs of small trucklings would be heard as Sonic bore hundreds of children, all of which would be his heirs, protectors of Freedom.

Sonic drove through the walls of the Council, and such destructive power made his blood boil with pride and lust as he halted to call upon his brethren. Abraham Lincoln sat across from him and the other Bikers gathered in the back with the unconscious Strongzor. Sonic Lincoln smiled and let out a hearty laugh as he stared down the Communist forces of ten-thousand strong, all snarling and spitting at the sights of the mighty vehicle in which he drove.

He slammed his foot upon the pedals and broke through the council doors, mowing through the Communists like foreign grass growing upon American soil. Abraham Lincoln jumped out of the window with his skateboard in hand, doing an ollie and slaying the fuck out of the Communist forces with his dual machine guns, riding side by side with his adoptive son.

Sonic was overcome with such a sense of pride that a tear rolled down his eye. He pulled out his guitar and began to sing a song of his feelings as he killed the fuck out of Karl Marx's communist spawn of the underworld. He steered with his feet as he poured his feelings into song form on his guitar, Freedom.

 _"Ohhh baby the feeling is out of control_

 _But you know my love is like a black-hole_

 _For you can see it in my eyes_

 _There's only one for me that's just right_

 _And you know we're going to get it on tonight_

 _Freedom is my lady!_

 _She shines red, blue, and white_

 _Freedom is my lady!_

 _Thinkin' about her is making my jeans tight_

 _Freedom is my lady!_

 _She's my sweet patriotic baby_

 _Freedom is my lady!_

 _When it comes to lovin' it's yes or no, never maybe_

 _Freedom is my lady!_

 _She's sweet like Mountain Dew in ice_

 _Freedom is my lady!_

 _She's gonna take me to paradise!"_

As Sonic finished his song, the Communist spawn were all but destroyed. Abraham Lincoln slayed the fuck out of the fleeing survivors on his skateboard. Michael Jordan's condition had advanced, with the illness that thrived within his body spreading abroad. His once bear-like skin became lissom and sallow as his life was drained away, and his basketball skills were being eaten away by the Arab poison.

"We must make haste before the land is benighted for America Junior's bivouac moonbase. If this ancient truck forged by the strength of our ancestors can break the sound barrier like our motorcycles, we should be able to amass enough cosmic fuckflare energy to make it off of this accursed planet of Detroit's moonbase!" Abraham Lincoln said with haste, opening the side-door and climbing into the 18-wheeler truck in which Sonic drove.

The hedgehog slammed his foot upon the pedal and rode forth, and the machine's tires set ablaze from the raw speed alone as it lifted into the air. Sonic Lincoln eased his calloused foot off of the pedals as the truck broke through the atmosphere and launched into space. Abraham Lincoln took the wheel, directing them to Canada's secret moonbase.

In no time at all they arrived at their destination, a place hidden cleverly behind an asteroid so no Communist force could impregnate their impregnable fortress. The truck touched down on the surface of America Junior, and as described in legend, its surface was unblazoned and made of the finest argent and jewels.

The Biker Brethren stepped out of their bulwark-on-wheels and were greeted by the fair lady Anne Frank and the true Globetrotters, all dribbling the shimmering basketballs in which they protected and had not dropped for one thousand moon years. They were Snoop Lion, Magic "Tragic" Johnson, Ice Cube, Shaquille O'Neal, Kobe Bryant, Lebron James, Doctor Dre, Mike Myers, and Will Smith.

Abraham Lincoln turned to the Biker Brethren, "Where Strongzor and I go is a place you cannot follow. I have pressing matters to discuss with the council, so you shall wait here until my clamant return," Abe stated honestly, lifting his son and taking him into his arms. He turned his head, following the other demigods as they entered the Canada-Burg, mightiest of the Americaverse's strongholds under the rising sun.


	58. (2013) The Guitar of the Damned

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 9 - LINCOLN AND THE GUITAR OF THE DAMNED  
**

* * *

Abraham Lincoln entered the Canada-Burg with the fair lady Anne Frank and the nine Globetrotters, carrying Jordan's lifeless body in his arms. Abraham laid his dying son in a deep hollow dolven from the marble floors beneath them and imbued with the blood of their doughty enemies, in which a new coat would be added each day by the Canadian people.

Snoop Lion pulled a small box out of his beard-like mane. Within dwelled a grill hewn from the finest jewels and death metals, forged within the fires of the tallest volcano in the Americaverse by the strength of patriot craftsmen whose strengths were unequaled far and wide. He placed the grill upon his teeth and its blinding shine piercing the heavens, only broken by Snoop's sandpaper-like tongue rolling past its rounded surface.

"Brothers, let us now join hands and begin the drawing ritual. We shall purge the darkness from every soul, and within every soul a song of unsavory demonic cries shall go forth as we quaff ten-thousand demon souls like a mighty pint of ale to save the young half demi-god, Michael Jordan Lincoln," Snoop Lion said in a throaty grumble, joining hands with the other council members in their last attempt to save the life of young Strongzor. Unlike Lincoln, he was but a mortal man, his bloodline imbued and tied with the life of a Grizzly Bear. If he passed on now, no supracosmic force in the Americaverse could save his damned soul.

The demigods summoned their guitars, beginning to sing the coveted words of the Holy Book as they prepared for the exorcism of the Arab poison. Their words began soft and in murmurs, though in time their voices grew as they floated skyward, orbiting Strongzor in midair as they rocked the fuck out of him. Jordan convulsed and writhed as the poison was drawn from him like blood is drawn from a wound, and the demigods' ancestral song grew louder and more intense by the second. The poison took an earthly shape as it was wrought the fuck out of him and formed a bipedal body, the very embodiment of the Communist ideals and demonic rituals it was born of.

The accursed terrorist poison beast donned raiments of swarthy shadows and lunged for Abraham's loins with its Axe Guitar, trying to break the ritual. Abraham laughed a puissant American laugh, withdrawing his chainsaw hand and mounting his skateboard. Abraham rode the fuck out of his skateboard, slicing the beast until its panoply of armor was but mere scraps with his chainsaw hand.

The beast made of poison bowed before Lincoln, begging for mercy like the most pathetic of all fucklings. Abraham crinkled his nose in disgust, bursting into a thunderous laugh at the loathsome sight. The sweaty patriot sliced off its head, and along with it Michael Jordan was cured of his grievous ailment. "You know Lincoln, I admire a man with such a firm hand ripe for the slicing of fuckling loins," Anne Frank said with yearning and fucklust, looking deep into the abyss of the patriot's cold, unwavering eyes.

"Indeed, but even you must realize that the only woman I could ever love is America, and to me the protection of my country is worth more than one thousand years of funky Grizzly bear intercourse," Abraham explained with a ferocious, Americanesque swagger. He knelt down, reaching to wake his unconscious son.

Shaquille O'Neal and the lesser Globetrotters reached down to lift the Arab's guitar, an accursed instrument laced with the blood vessels of fallen angels and dipped in the boiling, multi-colored life-blood from patriots of old.

"I would recognize this blade anywhere! This is the guitar of the mightiest Communist warlord in the Americaverse, John Wilkes Booth. Slayer of ten thousand patriots, drinker of the forbidden blood of Eagles. He was the wraith who destroyed Abraham's physical body long ago, until Sonic Lincoln resurrected the fuck out of him on Liberty 9. Only one question remains: how did such a loathsome creature come upon this cursed weapon?" Snoop Lion asked, taking the guitar into his calloused hands for a closer look.

"We must ride for the _Death Metal Tomb of Godless Warlords,_ a foul place deep within Communist territory, final resting place of the six Unholy Lieutenants of old. There is only one place where such a blade could have been found, and if the tomb has been raided I fear that something terrible may happen, threatening the very freedoms of this American land in which we hold dear!" Anne Frank said with haste, calling upon Freedom-Song and his kinsmen with the sounds of a righteous black metal beat.

The eagles swept down and grabbed the demigods in their jaws, flying them into the forbidden Communist territory. Eagles were the most American way to travel. Abraham sat his frothy glass of beer on an Eagle cupholder and watched an in-flight movie. Though, he couldn't hear it very well over the thundering sound of freedom.

Meanwhile, the Biker Brethren watched over Strongzor's unconscious body, although they weren't watching him, but rather playing a game of strip poker. Garfield took a hit of his lasagna Hookah Pipe while waiting for their safe return, unknowing of the journey the demigods had set out on.


	59. (2013) Wilkes Booth and Abe Lincoln

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 10 - WILKES BOOTH AND ABE LINCOLN  
**

* * *

The eagles descended upon the Death Metal Tomb of Godless Warlords. They landed, burgeoning forth and allowing the demigods to get off. They flew back to safer land, as the oxygen of Communist territory was poison to such mighty eagles. Abraham Lincoln swaggered forth, kicking down the door of the tomb in which the Communist people poured their blind hatred as they fortified its walls.

"Damn, it feels _good_ to be gangster," Abraham Lincoln roared with pride, rubbing his calloused hands upon the burnished walls of the tomb. The conclave of patriots walked through the halls of this god forsaken coffer, searching for the tombs of the dotards in which they had authority to treat with.

Anne Frank gestured for Shaquille O'Neal to follow her, who in turn was the proud father of the feline lord Garfield. They came upon a guileful coffin, and upon closer investigation there was nothing inside, not even as much as Communist droppings or a herd of flittermice.

The fetters that would have been used to hold the accursed corpses were shattered, and judging by the three-fingered scratch marks upon the walls, there was only one forlorn explanation: whatever was here had escaped. Lincoln donned his habergeon of armor, and on his shoulder he wore the pelt of a Virgin Grizzly Bear in which he used to strike fear into the pathetic hearts of the weak.

He turned to the youngest member of their party, Will Smith, a distant relative of his. "Go forth and aware the Biker Brethren of our presence, I fear that it may have been a mistake to come here!" Abraham instructed, even though he didn't make mistakes. Will Smith rode forth and conjured a mighty Harley Davidson like that of the American dream, teeming with such Americanesque beauty Abraham himself was impressed by its righteous fervor.

Over the boiling rivers of blood and above the desolate, haunted mountains of this cursed land stood six wraith-like figures, staring down upon the tomb from far away like a Bald eagle stalking its prey. That being the children of Communist spawn that wandered too far into their territory. The leader of the six stepped forth, his muscles broad and his bare chest shredded and scarred from years of battle. He was a most fearsome sight, with burn marks breaking between the forest of hair upon his emblazoned abs.

His hair and beard were unkempt and ferocious like a gasoline fire, and his muscles pulsated like a lava stream. However, perhaps his most frightening feature was the left eye missing from his head. It was gouged out by the mightiest eagle warlords, leaving a scar across his rugged face as the permanent reminder of his defeat by the hands of America.

One of his arms had been sliced off in battle long ago, now replaced by a chainsaw-guitar forged of obisidians and golds, impaled into the stub of his arm on a rusty spike. The wretch rode upon the back of a vulture, a despicable creature that feasted upon the flesh of an eagle's young. Truly, the embodiment of the dark wizard Karl Marx's twisted dream for Communism itself.

The other five wraiths rode upon vultures of their own, although but mere gorcrow compared to the terrible, ferocious beast the leader mounted and tamed himself. The leader of the six raised his arm of metal into the air, and he was surely a beast of power unequaled as to have such strength to hold this instrument of tremendous weight.

"Hunt down the American dotards! Feast upon their flesh, bite at their heels, quaff from their dwimmer-crafty blood! Swagger upon their remains, and leave no survivors! Do not fail me, be thankful you have not found yourself in my grip, you lissom fucklings," The leader roared, and upon his orders the vultures and their riders ran down the cliff face.

They crashed through the walls of the tomb, catching the Harlem Globetrotters by surprise. One vulture gored Ice Cube through the skull, and the rider of another shot the fuck out of Kobe Bryant with its dual Chainsaw Machine-Guns.

Abraham Lincoln and Anne Frank ran from the thraldom of the accursed temple first, followed by the seven Globetrotters not slain in battle. The tumult of vulture talons treading upon the ashen ground could be heard as the leader stared down Lincoln at the front gate. Lincoln looked around, noticing the other riders circling around the demigods, snarling and spitting in poorly repressed anger.

"Abe the Honest... it has been a long time," The Leader guffawed, relishing the coarse sounds of his chainsaw slicing against the stone walls of the tomb. "John Wilkes Booth, I see you have broken free from the icy hands of death in a land where all scream for a mercy they will never receive. But even you must realize, like my ancestor Benjamin Franklin when he faced the demon thunderstorm armed with only his machine-gun kite and American spirit, that you are doomed," Abe the Honest roared with pride, not willing to make the same mistake and get slain by this swarthy fucklord twice.

"You are mistaken, Lincoln. I have not overcome death, I have _BECOME_ death. I have struck a deal with the necromancer Karl Marx in the parapet of his dark lair of godless Communist sorcery. I am now _John Wilkes Booth the Deathless,_ and I have transcended far beyond the need for such American things like death, and now not even you could slay me, dotard of a thousand suns!" Wilkes Booth mocked with a Communist fervor, unzipping his fanny-pack which contained the souls he would reap with his guitar. As a show of force, Booth swung his prostethic arm and lopped off the head of his vulture steed.

Abraham Lincoln foamed at the mouth from anger, punching John Wilkes Booth to the ground, "How dare you enslave such a divine, American creature? You tosspot from the depths of fuckling space!" He growled with a great fury, cradling the dead vulture in his arms and sharing its pain. Abraham was the protector of all American life, and he wouldn't let this hooting and hollering fucklord destroy the Americaverse he held dear.

Elsewhere, Sonic and the Biker Brethren rested inside a Canadian bar. Like any Americans would do, Sonic and company got into a fight with bloodthirsty bar hooligans. Charles Barkley and his recovering father were busy fist-pumping, cheering them on from the sidelines. Nixon grabbed a stool and smashed it over a hooligan's head, and Sonic lifted a hooligan and hurled him at a jukebox, and upon his impact the machine began playing the most American of death metal. Sonic laughed a hearty laugh, taking a puff of Garfield's lasagna cigar with great pride.

The bar brawl was interrupted as a Harley Davidson motorcycle crashed through the ceiling, crushing the remaining hooligans. Will Smith dismounted his motorcycle and collapsed onto the floor, mortally injured from a battle with terrorists on his way to America Junior.

"P-Patriots, Abraham needs your help. His mortal enemy, John Wilkes Booth, has been resurrected by Karl Marx. You are perhaps the only people Americanesque enough to defeat him, you must hurry before it's too late!" Smith rasped before falling to the ground, dead from an Arab's poison blade. Sonic kneeled over his dead body and allowed a single tear to fall upon his forehead. He stood, trodding on Smith's body as he boarded the 18-wheeler truck with his brothers in arms, flying for the Death Metal Tomb.


	60. (2013) The Ultimate Battle for America

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 11 - ULTIMATE BATTLE FOR THE AMERICAVERSE  
**

* * *

John Wilkes Booth reached into his fanny-pack, for inside dwelled Americanesque raiments that were surely harvested from the corpses of fallen patriots long ago. He cloaked his sable skin with a biker jacket of leather emblazoned with flames and donned chainsaw boots upon the calloused hooves that acted as his feet. Abraham spat blood upon the ground, for being swaddled in the clothes of a patriot was an act of war against the Americaverse.

Abraham knew there was only one way to end these sodomous shenanigans, but it would come at a great cost. He used necromancy to summon a mighty guitar from a world of righteous patriotism and liberty, forged by George Washington in a majestic land untouched by the sins of mortal men. This was a guitar of such divine and pious passion that, in the hands of the enemy, this holy blade could extinguish the Americaverse itself. An American flag was emblazoned upon the face of this holy instrument as it descended into Abraham's nimble fingers that were ripe for loving.

Abraham shot the demons a righteous smirk and removed this divine guitar from its sheath. As foretold in legend, it was hewn from the copper and wrought iron used to forge the mighty Statue of Liberty and polished with the menstrual blood of Communist harlots it had slain.

This first-begotten instrument's shine pierced the heavens. The Communist demons contorted and howled in pain from the mere sight of it, snarling and spitting like untamed rapebeasts from the wild lands. The guitar set ablaze as its patriotism grew, burning the retinas of any Marxist who gazed upon it. Abraham stepped forward, swinging this flaming weapon to and fro and driving the Communist fucklings into the abyss.

John Wilkes Booth lost his composure, setting forth a throaty roar as the guitar grazed his ashen skin. " I would recognize the foul beauty of this weapon anywhere, that is the guitar _Communist-Slayer!_ Slicer of a thousand aroused Arab loins, bane of the Eastern Galaxies, bleeder of fuckling flesh! Only wielded by the most patriotic of American warlords!" Wilkes Booth snarled, taking up his own Communist weapon and lunging for the armed patriot. Lincoln merely smiled and laughed a hearty, Americanesque laugh. He held his blade high and leapt into battle, charging with his fellow demigods into war.

Shaquille O'Neal and Anne Frank roared with pride as they beheaded a vulture steed with their chainsaw guitars. Magic Johnson lunged for the fallen rider and grinded him into a pulp of Communist shame and sin with his guitar, the rider being the godless warlord _Larry of the Cable Guys._

The guitar Communist-Slayer clashed with the weapon of John Wilkes Booth. However, this fuckling warlord's sinful blade proved no match for such patriotic might. It shattered immediately upon impact, sending Wilkes Booth flying. "W-What are you?" The great dolemite Wilkes Booth howled in fear, falling to his knees and begging for mercy.

"Abraham 'Liberty' Lincoln is my name, _and I am the Communists' bane!"_ The demigod roared with an American fervor. His blade collided with John Wilkes Booth's head, rupturing it on impact and filling the sky with a blinding light. The traces of his ruined body flew miles away as Abraham withdrew his blood-soaked guitar, finishing the deed.

Sonic's ears caught wind of Abraham's speech as the 18-wheeler truck in which he called home arrived at the Battle of the Death Metal Tomb. As he hearkened upon Abe's words, a single tear of pride fell from his eye. When Sonic perished, he would want Abraham's glorious speech emblazoned upon his tombstone with no context, leaving future historians forever puzzled from the innate power of his words. Sonic kicked the door off of its hinges, running to his father for a firm, sweaty handshake.

Abraham looked deep into the waters of his son's eyes without flinching. Sonic had grown much as a true American hero, and maybe one day he would be blessed by Lady Liberty and transformed into an American demigod himself. The Biker Brethren charged into battle with Strongzor leading the pack, slaying the rest of these deathless warlords with ease.

Though the lord of the damned and his minions had been slain, the battle was far from over. Communists soldiers enforced by terrorists riding their godless dinosaur mounts rode forward. Their presence was ominous, being akin to a storm cloud forming over the horizon as they charged forth.

"Take arms, war is upon us! We are patriots united, you shall stand your ground, no matter what trials we may face!" Snoop Lion roared. The American heroes reformed the line and stared down their insurmountable challenge ahead, an army of millions strong. The surviving Globetrotters dribbled their shimmering basketballs as Michael Jordan and his son joined their ranks, taking up the basketballs of the three slain Globetrotters with pride.

Booming, echoing sounds filled the sky as the Arab lieutenant mounted upon a ferocious and swaggering dinosaur, blowing the horn of war as the Communist forces advanced. The Biker Brethren charged forth, slicing away at the front line infantry, knocking hoards of them into the abyss of bottomless chasms that filled the ashen ground of this godless land.

Arabs piled onto Garfield the Wise and clawed at his flesh, but he swiftly broke free with a righteous swing of his chainsaw-nunchucks. After withdrawing her knife from the throat of a terrorist, Anne Frank used her American magic to dislodge a boulder. The Biker Brethren got behind this rock of American might and pushed it forward, crushing thousands of Communist fucklings underneath and throwing into a pit like a mighty basketball.

Garfield huffed a bottle of Lasagna jenkem to clear his mind, joining the forces of Michael Jordan and the Globetrotters as they decked the fuck out of the Arab forces with their slamming, dunking, innate basketball skills. Young Charley Barkley took his basketball in hand, visualizing a golden hoop in his mind as he stared down a mighty Commie dinosaur steed. He leapt upwards for the slam dunk, crushing the dinosaur's skull with his basketball and killing the beast in one fell swoop. As this prehistoric fell, it crushed thousands of terrorists and their Communist masters.

Jordan smiled in pride. His son had truly come to deserve the title of Strongzor of the Slam-meal, having such righteous basketball skills rivaling his own. Jordan and Barkley mounted their motorcycles and drove up the back of another dinosaur garbed in Cosmic Space Armor, both grabbing a basketball in hand and slaying the fuck out of this overgrown fuckling reptile as father and son with a sweeping slam-dunk.


	61. (2013) Disbanding of the Biker Brethren

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 12 - DISBANDING OF THE BIKER BRETHREN  
**

* * *

Sonic tore off his shirt from righteous anger. As was true for any American, his finely toned muscles were so rock-hard that a patriot craftsman could carve the heads of presidents into his chest and the forest of hair that roamed free upon it. "Stand by me my brothers, for we shall drive these foul sand-monkeys into the abyss of which they came! _God bless the Americaverse!"_ Sonic roared with an Americanesque fervor, howling a great howl into this red sky of Communist territory. The fine hairs upon his chest and abs flew majestically in the wind, hairs so fine they could be braided into mighty shapes and images of beauty unequaled anywhere else in the American galaxies.

"But master Sonic, these are not normal terrorists! They are flag burning Communists, spawned from the impious witchcraft of Karl Marx!" Charles Barkley warned, only to be responded by a righteous laugh from Sonic that covered his face in a thick layer of American saliva. "To a patriot, young Slamzor, anyone that isn't an American is a fucking Commie. _Let us rocketh the fuck out!"_ Sonic roared with pride. Following Sonic's example, the other Bikers tore off their own shirts and rode into battle on their Harley Davidson motorcycles.

Michael Jordan embraced his roots and became full Grizzly bear. For the bikers, watching such a majestic beast covered in firm, swart hair was a wondrous sight to behold. He rode underneath the underbelly of an Arab Dinosaur, the only part of this beast's body not swaddled in Cosmic Space Armor. This comely warrior did not falter, throwing his chainsaw-guitar "Slam-Dunker" many furlongs into the air.

It sliced a fatal gash upon this beast's hide, flooding the land with a freshet of glittering dinosaur blood and showering Jordan with its glory as he reverted back into his American form. The patriots fought long and hard for many a fortnight, for as long as patriotic juices coursed through their American veins, they would never give in to their puissant enemy.

Abraham Lincoln performed a pious, Americanesque pelvic thrust into the sky. The sheer power of Abraham's loins alone conjured a righteous tidal wave, hurling Arab and Communist spawn alike into the air. After plummeting from the stratosphere, they descended to their deaths into a mouldering pile of corpses and demon forces slain in this grievous war.

Even the Arab dinosaurs feared this sweaty patriot's innate, godlike power that coursed through his loin blood. They howled in fear, fleeing into the sunset like pitiable fuckmeisters. Though this army had all but been slain, there was still a lone champion amongst their sinful people ready and able to fight.

He was _Joseph Stalin the Loathsome,_ devourer of light, hammer of the Americaverse, supreme commander of the demon spawn conjured by the dark sorcerer Karl Marx. He answered to no man and purged his body of all emotions, save one: hatred of all American life. He strode forth, swinging his mace-guitar connected by a rusty chain, Communist blood coursing through his innards. A small earthquake shook this forsaken land as he trod upon the ashen ground, and each one of his heavy footsteps struck fear into the hearts of even the mightiest warlords.

Soviet Russian Battle Cubes, teeming with thousands of Communist spawn festering within, circled the planet in the event of his death, preparing to hunt the patriotic heroes across the Americaverse if necessary. Abraham Lincoln turned to his patriot brothers in arms, his feline-eyes gloriously reflecting the light of the sunset behind them as night befell the land. Instead of one of his grand speeches, he merely nodded his head solemnly.

Sonic smiled, shaking the sweaty hand of his adoptive father and clashing their guitars together. No words needed to be said- they would ruin the moment. An army encircled them, so large that even the mightiest alliance of Americans in the galaxy may not be able to defeat it.

The patriots roared the mightiest of American roars, charging into a hopeless battle with full knowledge that they may not be able to win. Explosions and soaring debris showered the land as the Soviet Battle Cubes opened fire, the sky above growing as red and as bright as the American spirit. Abraham Lincoln unsheathed the Communist-Slayer, clashing blades with Joseph Stalin with Michael Jordan fighting at his side. Stalin swung his crooked and misshapen mace with little effort. The tip of his blade came down with such force that a crater filled its place, terrifying even Honest Abe.

The Battle Cubes beamed down reinforcements, sending hordes of swarthy warriors to flood the barren hills of this desolate field in which they fought. Stalin swung twice with a bloodthirsty grin, slamming the 16th president with such deadly force that he was flung across the battlefield. He hit the dirt with a massive thud, rolling upon the ground like an American can of beer discarded by a hairy patriot.

The demonic marchwarden then set his sights on young Charles Barkley, decimating all in his path and hurling the defending Globetrotters left and right. Slamzor was utterly frozen in his tracks. Fear filled his heart and bullets of sweat trickled from his forehead. Enough to load a shotgun with.

"You shall not lay even a single one of your misshapen fingers upon my dear son, _you fuckmad, booty-bothered, thrawn-faced, toothsome tosspot of Communist shaaaaaaaame!"_ Michael Jordan roared like a mighty grizzly, losing what little composure he had left and hurling himself upon Joseph Stalin. Hatred and pure, unadulterated anger overcame his patriotic soul, aiding him as he viciously bludgeoned the Communist warlord with his blade and left him no opening for attack.

Stalin effortlessly slapped Strongzor to the ashen ground and stood erect before him, towering over Michael as blood poured from the open gashes that littered his body. Michael fell upon one knee and clashed blades with this detestable foe, only to have his chainsaw-guitar shatter and disperse across the field as it collided with Stalin's blade. The Communist warrior laughed heartily as Jordan shakily rose to his feet, unwilling to give up the fight even without his ancestral weapon to save his son.

A blood-curdling roar, as loud and as mighty as a thunder clap echoed through the night. The Biker Brethren could only tremble and goggle in horror as Stalin's mace collided with Strongzor's shirtless body, impaling him without mercy. Michael Jordan quivered and shook as he tried to stand his ground, only to collapse upon the withered grass with blood pooling from every open wound and orifice scattered across his ruined body.

Charles Barkley kneeled before his fatally wounded father, meeting the gaze of his cold, unwavering eyes. Slamzor clasped his father's hand as tightly as he could, tears trickling from his eyes as he spoke, "Father! Please, hold on! We can get you help, we can save you!" Barkley whimpered in desperation, running his nimble fingers throughout Jordan's wispy locks of hair. Stalin stood graven and silent, gazing upon the pitiable sight with the utmost pride in his sinful deeds.

"...There is no need for saving me, my son. You already have. This is like those stories, the tales and fables I would read to you about patriots of old in your childhood. No matter what the insurmountable task they faced, they never backed down. And sometimes, you didn't want to know the ending, because you could never believe that the world could go back to the way it was when so much destruction had happened. But yet, _it always did,"_ Jordan rasped, curving his lips into a hearty smile as the Biker Brethren kneeled before their fallen ally.

"...For as long as there is even one American man roaming this sinful world, there is still hope for the Americaverse. And even though great tragedies may befall us along the way, there will come a new day. A day of peace, for all patriots! That day may not be today, but it shall come. You are now Strongzor of the Slam-meal my son, wear this title proudly, _like I once did..."_ Michael Jordan spoke with a smile, drawing his last breath and meeting the stalwart gazes of his son and brother one last time. His eyes grew dim and lifeless, and he passed on to the great White House in the sky.


	62. (2013) The Final Jam of Michael Jordan

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 13 - THE FINAL JAM OF MICHAEL JORDAN  
**

* * *

Abraham Lincoln shakily rose to his feet, approaching Stalin from behind and viciously beheading this demonic warlord with one fell swoop. He crushed Stalin's defiled skull under his gold-trimmed boot, restoring honor and gaining vengeance for his fallen son.

"May yee' rest in the most foul of abyss, deep within the hells of iron of the underworld like the swarthy Communist fuckthain you are," Abraham snarled in disgust, spitting upon the ruined body of their formidable foe from the fords of crunkenstein. The Communist soldiers soon retreated upon the sight of their mutilated general and crawled back into the Soviet Battle Cubes. They had gotten what they had came for: _the life of an honest patriot._

Abraham gazed into the unwavering eyes of his grandson, who was mourning over the death of his father alongside his fellow compatriots. Sonic's nose crinkled in disgust, and he vowed to himself that he would reap his revenge upon the entire subhuman Communist race. Garfield and Nixon lowered their heads in sorrow, and the steward of basketball Snoop Lion joined them in tribute to his deceased former apprentice.

The Globetrotters all unzipped their pants and placed their guitars over Jordan's slain body, grieving alongside the bikers. Charles Barkley wiped the tears from his face and stared upon the rising sun. He smiled, unsheathing his guitar and beginning to pour his feelings into a righteous, American song.

"Strongzor was his name

Born of Grizzly Bear and Man

Dinosaurs and Arabs he would shame

His skills taught by the Globetrotter Clan

 _America shall rise again!_

To heal his heart, and drown his woe

His American spirit, so bright it could glow

Swarthy fucklords Michael would slay

His loyalty to the Americaverse could never sway!

 _America shall rise again!_

Beautiful is the sound of the pouring rain

As he slayed the fuck out of Arabs from hill to plain

His basketball skills would never fail

As he walked down a lonely, patriot's trail

 _America shall rise again!_

Strongzor was once his name

A sacrifice he made so we may fight another day

His American spirit bright as an open flame

Evil ones will never know

You cannot keep the power of America at bay

 _America shall rise again!"_

The Harlem Globetrotters prepared their Harley Davidson motorcycles as the sun rose. Smoke filled the air, coming from the carnage and destruction scattered all across this godless land.

Snoop Lion turned to the Biker Brethren and smiled. "We are now departing for the great White House in the sky, the final frontier. The Americaverse no longer require the powers of we ancient warriors, so we shall join the ranks of the patriots from old in the next life. We have grown far too old- even now, we are fading away. Would you care to join us, Abe the Honest?" Snoop asked, the light of the sun glittering upon his mahogany skin. Abraham Lincoln shook his head, "This is the Americaverse's most dire hour, and I am one of the few patriotic demigods still left to defend it. I will join your ranks one day, but that day is not today. It's what my son would have wanted".

The Biker Brethren looked upwards and smiled as the Globetrotters drove into the sky, departing for the next life like the righteous patriots they were. Abraham rested his hand upon Sonic's shoulder, "You are now the leader of the Biker Brethren, Sonic of the Lincoln family. Where shall we take our voyage across the American stars next?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"We shall head for the heart of the Communist galaxy, to destroy the fuck out of the dark wizard Karl Marx and his Communist legion once and for all. It shall be the final tribute to our fallen brother, his sacrifice shall not go in vain!" Sonic spoke aloud, clashing guitars with the remaining members of the Biker Brethren and bellowing a righteous, throaty roar into the stars to honor Strongzor's memory.


	63. (2013) The Missing Biker Brethren

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 14 - THE MISSING BIKER BRETHREN  
**

* * *

The Biker Brethren fled from the planet of godless Communist sorcery. They were forced to leave their mighty 18-wheeler truck behind, as it was too large to be camouflaged and hidden from the all-watching eyes of Karl Marx and his growing army. It was no short of a heartfelt departure; Sonic wept for many days and nights over this truck in which he would have chosen to be his betrothed. Sonic thought back to the precious moments he and this vehicle had shared before their parting. Lying by the shores of New Jersey's moonbase and savoring each other's sweaty flesh, hunting Arabs and mounting their sinful heads upon a pike, and rocking out by an open flame in the heart of the great Alabama woodlands. A single tear rolled down Sonic's eye, though like any hairy patriot would, he rode ever onward.

Richard Nixon regaled his fellow patriots with the stories of his ancestry and people, the _Yorba Lindas_ from California's moonbase that wasn't actually on the moon. They were a proud warrior race, purging their bodies of all emotion and growing past such Americanesque virtues like mercy and courage. Their relations with Americans had always been strained, with some believing they were no better than the Hipster Fucklings of the southern galaxies. Sonic himself distrusted Nixon and the others of his kind, but he stayed his tongue, knowing that Nixon couldn't help being the hooting and hollering fucklord he was. It was in his blood, just like how the tears of eagles run through the blood of patriots.

Abraham crinkled his nose in annoyance, he himself sharing Sonic's distrust of the ex-demigod. Abraham interrupted the proud Yorba Lindan and began telling stories of his own, regaling the heroes with his adventures that were too beautiful to detail into the tongue of mere mortals. "...And so then, I told the two virgin Grizzly bears to make sweet, American love to each other for my viewing pleasure," Abraham Lincoln finished his punchline with pride, the patriots bursting out in laughter and throaty roars of righteous, American howls. Abraham was a well-groomed man that enjoyed a good sexual innuendo while feasting upon the carrion of Arab dinosaurs.

The patriots landed upon a long forgotten asteroid, possibly the ruins of some forsaken Communist territory. Upon the mass of rock were the ruins of a Soviet Russian Battle Cube and the skeletons of Communists slain in battle long ago. The Bikers started a fire and took shelter in the Battle Cube, rummaging through anything they could find of use, even if it was forged by the enemy of all free men. Garfield the Wise got to work, preparing a hearty meal worthy of such brave patriots: raw wolverine meat with a side of freedom. The orange man-cat was the chef and scribe of the Biker Brethren, detailing their Americanesque voyage through the stars in his dream journal that nobody actually reads.

Abraham took a bite of the wolverine meat right off the bone, his feline eyes glowing in the midst of the night. After a pint of ale to heal their woe and a few drinking songs, the Biker Brethren plunged deep into an Americanesque slumber. Sonic Lincoln perched himself upon the ruins of the Battle Cube, keeping watch with his gaze fixated on the stars. Curiosity overtook him, and he came down from his jury-rigged watchtower to search through the ruins of this forgotten Communist base. He lifted a fuckling skull into his calloused hands, and his patriotic eyes widened as he noticed two large bite marks that shattered the skull. "...These Communists were not slain in battle, they were eaten by-" Sonic hollered with an American fervor, only to be interrupted by the echoing screams of the Biker Brethren back at the campsite.

Sonic ran as fast as his American legs could carry him, only to find the campsite empty and the fire doused. His heart stopped as he heard loud stomps in the distance, surely by a massive behemoth of a creature. They shook the forest by its roots, and each stomp made Sonic's voluminous chest hair flail wildly in the wind. Sonic leapt into the trees, swinging on the vines and clinching his guitar between his fang-like teeth. He rolled upon the forest floor and into a bush, wedging his feline eyes between the twigs as he beheld the behemoths which had reaped his patriotic brothers.

They were five repulsive, overgrown Spider-Bears, their arms shaven and masculine, bearing tribal tattoos emblazoned across their sinful bodies. Their skin was swathed in scars and their faces were swaddled by the comfort of a doo-rag, and they wore righteous biker jackets custom-fitted over all eight of their crooked and misshapen limbs. Their teeth were as sharp as the blades of a chainsaw, and they possessed six eyes wreathed in flame upon their faces.

Sonic's comrades were swaddled in webs, their weapons strewn across the ground and their bodies dangling from a tree. "YO! These are some fockin' good eats right here, yee stinkin' focklords! And 'ere you thought I couldn't pull another fookin' rabbit outta' ma hat. Ye should stick ye heads up ya arse, cause ya ain't seein' shit clearly!" The head Spider-Bear snarled throatily at his companions in his incomprehensible Glaswegian accent. To Sonic, their intent was clear: these dribble-lipped bears were preparing to eat the Biker Brethren alive!


	64. (2013) The Sad Tale of B-Bear Soul

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 15 - THE SAD TALE OF B-BEAR SOUL  
**

* * *

Sonic crinkled his nose in disgust, letting the repugnant scents and aromas of this godless asteroid flood his nostrils. The Spider-Bears circled around the tree, biting at the heels of the patriots and snarling. They began drooling and foaming pools of saliva from their mandibles, slobbering upon the bark of the tree. Sonic knew he must take arms and fight, but could he stand up to the challenge of these untamed beasts of the wild Southron galaxies? "Of course I can," Sonic murmured under his breath with a patriotic smile. "I'm a goddamn American".

Sonic roared with a patriotic fervor, leaping out of the bushes and rolling into the center of the Spider-Bears' hoard, guitar unsheathed and eyes ablaze with fury. "Gird up thy loins, yee ass-bothered fucklords and fuckladies! You shall release my brothers at once, lest you prefer an American smack-down of shit-shaking proportions!" The American hedgehog threatened. He placed his guitar into their camp-fire, withdrawing his weapon that now set ablaze. He swung this flaming guitar of righteous might to and fro, frightening the lesser bears into backing away.

"Aiyyo, what is this'n we have 'ere? Some sorta fookin' homo-thug who ain't nuffin? Oi, even if we squashed the beef, I ain't touchin' ya hand! Poppity-pop, let's watch this fookin' homo-thug drop!" The head Spider-Bear, whom bore the name of _B-Bear Soul,_ snarled in a guttural growl, his talons treading upon the ground as he moved forwards. Sonic's feline eyes widened as he directed his gaze beyond the hybrid bear, realizing his patriotic companions had stolen back their freedom and were now preparing their deadly weapons for an all-out attack. Now all the American hedgehog had to do was distract these foul beasts for a moment longer while they gathered their Americanesque raiment.

"But wait, yee ferocious, swaggering bears from the fords and spreading plains of Collard Greens! I know why you art here. You cannot hide your feelings from a tempered patriot, I can sense deep longing inside of you with all of my calloused senses that are strengthened from years of bloodshed and war. The Communists brought you here, did they not? They betrayed you, I can sense it. So you took their lives, didn't you?" Sonic asked with a quivering lip, his gaze unwavering as he stared into the cold, lifeless void that was the heart of a Spider-Bear. B-Bear Soul hung his head in shame, and for a moment Sonic could have sworn this bear showed the empathy and sadness only capable by an American man.

The bear's sadness soon transmuted into misguided fury, "Empty out, reloaded n' throw mo' slugs! Once I split ya ass in two, you'll be twice as butt! I know how to chase a cat up in a tree! I'll give ya the business fo' fockin' wit' me! I only know how to be tha one way: that's tha dog!" B-Bear Soul roared ferociously, lunging for Sonic's protruding loins with fangs bared. "TALA-HOO! God bless America!" Abraham the Honest roared in the traditional American tongue, taking up the Communist-Slayer and beheading the beast before his fangs could tear a gash in the patriotic loins of the American hedgehog.

The rest of the patriots took up arms, charging into battle against the four living bears. Nixon leapt atop a fallen boulder, high enough to meet eye-contact with the bears. He hacked away at the skull of a Spider-Bear with his Axe guitar, slicing gashes upon its face until the mighty beast collapsed into the still blazing fire. Garfield the Wise slayed the fuck out of two bears with his righteous, American nunchucks, joining Charles Barkley hand in hand and bludgeoning the last beast with synchronized blows until its last drop of life blood dripped upon the ashen ground.


	65. (2013) Conspiracy to Destroy Honest Abe

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 16 - CONSPIRACY TO DESTROY HONEST ABE**

* * *

After the fight, the brotherhood of patriots gathered their pilfered belongings. They took a brief detour on their quest to explore the caves and territories built by the slain demonic bears, a sprawling network of tunnels and caves built into the side of a mountain. It was no secret that the Biker Brethren were not the first to see their lair, as the decomposed remains of patriots and Communists alike were strewn across the ground without care.

Abraham came upon a hoard of the bears' treasure, reaching his hand into the towering pile and removing a guitar covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. He removed the weapon from its sheath, and his heart stopped as his feline eyes gazed upon the inscription emblazoned upon its surface. The president dropped the ancient instrument to the ground and fell to his knees from shock, unhinging his jaw like a snake and roaring into the night.

Nixon took the instrument into his own calloused hands for inspection. "This was the guitar wielded by _Benjamin Franklin the Noble,_ son of _John Hancock the Boisterous,_ last of the Founding Fathers. He disappeared one decade ago, departing on a quest with seven other patriotic stewards like himself to reclaim the lost American kingdom of Mexico. He was a good soldier, we fought side by side during many wars. May Lady Liberty bless his patriotic soul," The noble warrior spoke, struggling to hold back tears over his fallen comrade.

Abraham girded up his loins and wiped the tears from his eyes, placing the guitar back in its sheath and bestowing it upon his young grandson, Charles Barkley. "You could not wish for a better keytar, my dear Slamzor. It is known as the Electric-Defiler, a guitar foretold to possess the power of slaying even immortal beings. May it serve you well," Lincoln spoke with a smile. Barkley took it into his own hands, examining the finely crafted weapon for himself. Before long, Sonic and his brethren mounted their motorcycles and drove back into the stars, abandoning this godless asteroid once and for all. Abraham Lincoln rode at the front of the fellowship, guiding the bikers to the orbiting satellite of _Patriotism VII._

Once the flagship of the Americaverse's Space-Navy, it was stripped down after retirement and made a tactical base where Patriots from all across the galaxy could come to rest and repair their Harley Davidson motorcycles. Benjamin Franklin himself frequented the pub built into this installation, a famous brothel known far and wide as "The Sleeping Patriot Tavern". Abraham Lincoln himself took upon the burden of delivering the bad news to the stewards of Patriotism VII, the last place Benjamin Franklin was seen before he departed upon the daring journey that took his life ten years ago.

The force-field enveloping the satellite dissolved as the Biker Brethren approached. After being cleared for entry, the bikers screeched to a halt inside of the docking bay and dismounted their righteous, metallic steeds. Abraham Lincoln turned to his American brothers, lips quivering as he spoke. "I will take my leave, to discuss urgent manners with the stewards of Patriotism VII, manners only a battle-hardened American like myself could understand. You shall depart once you are fully rested, and I shall reunite with you once my mission is complete," The president foretold with a smile. The bikers were understanding, for they knew a patriot's work was never done.

Upon the departure of Lincoln and the arrival of the man-eagle technicians, whom swore an oath to repair their Harley Davidson motorcycles with utmost surety, the Biker Brethren left to visit the Sleeping Patriot Tavern as a group. They entered an elevator shaft, traveling downwards and surveying the satellite in its entirety through the frosted windows around them.

"I cannot explain it, but I feel something has gone awry with this station. A dark sense of foreboding, devoid of any Americanesque feelings," Charles Barkley shared with his brothers, full of concern over his grandfather. Sonic rested his hand on Barkley's shoulder. "Do not fret, young Slamzor. I can assure you that everything is in order, there is no need for such homoerotic emotions," The American hedgehog reassured him, though Sonic himself was beginning to share his concern as well.

The shaft came to an abrupt halt, malfunctioning and dropping the company off upon the wrong level of the station. The door slid off of its hinges, revealing a corridor shrouded in darkness, puffs of steam rising from the floors as the patriots stepped out. Without any warning, the elevator exploded and sparks and shrapnel showered the room like rain. The patriots were thrown limply across the room like ragdolls discarded by an ungrateful Communist infant. "Many a man has tried to assassinate me before for my great beauty, so I believe I would be the first person to recognize an assassination attempt when I see one," Garfield the Wise hollered, putting into words what all of the other bikers were already thinking.


	66. (2013) The Communists Prepare for War

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 17 - THE COMMUNIST ARMIES PREPARE FOR WAR  
**

* * *

The Biker Brethren traversed down the winding paths and halls of these forsaken catacombs. Garfield the Wise limped from his wounds sustained during the failed assassination attempt and was being supported by the help of Richard Nixon. A sense of repressed fear coursed through Sonic's loins, and he dared not even think of the trials his American father must be going through during this dark time. An unearthly glow painted the halls, and the marble emblazoned upon their surfaces reflected an ungodly light, a shine that illuminated nothing and pierced into the hearts of even these mighty patriots. Silent as a grave, dark magic permeated these walls that could drive weak-willed men mad.

With a mighty pelvic thrust, Sonic pierced through the metal walls that enveloped them with his throbbing groin. A bridge of stone suspended upon a bottomless abyss was all that greeted the patriots, and across the bridge and great vale were two towering gargoyles carved of obsidian and wrought irons. The statues were of ancient Communist warlords with names so impure that speaking them alone was an act of treason against the Americaverse. The only thing comparable to the blasphemy of uttering their names was godless, interracial intercourse by the lakeside with thirteen Grizzly bears and an Arab she-beast, all while lying upon a burning American flag.

Between the two Communist gargoyles was a gate towering into the corpse-light above. Between the cracks of the doors was a pale green light, a shine that silently begged them to peer at the horrors and Communist depravity within. "We should turn back from whence we came, this is a dark place! We did not fight the Nazis to enter such a vale of Communist horror, a godless land aflame with foul fuckeries and negromancy! Gird up thy collective loins and collect thy patriotic toiletries, Americans such as ourselves were never meant to gaze into the flaming eyes of such unadulterated Communist fuckery!" Richard Nixon howled with arms outstretched. Sweat trickled from his forehead, and the gusts of wind seeping through the doors made his mullet flail wildly in the wind.

Sonic scoffed at Nixon's warning, spitting upon the ground with swaggering hips. "Is it not the American dream to explore our patriotic galaxy? Expand the Americaverse, destroy foul sodomites and Nazi sorcerers, slay dinosaurs and have a passionate romance with no fewer than three American damsels at once?" The American hedgehog roared with hatred, marching down the bridge and wedging his nimble fingers between the cracks in the door. As his hands laid upon the wooden frame, the unholy lights surrounding this forsaken corridor grew in intensity, and with them the very earth beneath their patriotic feet began rumbling and shaking. Sonic gritted his teeth as he braved the ferocious storm, trying his hardest to gain even the slightest gaze into this den of Cultural Marxist horror.

The deathly shine below them shot into the sky like a roaring flame, the unearthly glow so bright that this forsaken place could be seen from galaxies away. The gate had opened, and the corpse light faded into nothingness. A bleak and ungodly darkness surrounded the patriots, many shades darker than even the blackest of Communist nights. The candles surrounding the room, of which were placed in the shape of a pentagram, set ablaze once more without warning. Beyond the gate was a ghastly sight, a place of foul wickedness that patriots like these were never meant to lay their eyes upon.

Sonic and his allies beheld immeasurably high towers wreathed in black spikes, battlement upon battlement towering into the sky, immeasurably strong and fading into the hazy sky above. The shadow-mantled fortress was built into the side of a mountain, of which was its dark throne. A winding path of wooden bridges and ramshackle spires were built into its hills, and a godless, green shine showered the land with an unearthly glow. Once a satellite of American pride, but no longer was this place. It was perverted and twisted into a dark lair of evil, disguised as an American haven to lure patriots into the ultimate Communist trap. A den of Communists so massive, it was utterly surreal to gaze upon this place where no grace dwelled.

Soldiers of Communist sin and horror marched from the gates of this accursed lair of dark sorcery, millions of them pouring from the topmost tower from which they were spawned. Terrorist slaves worked in the factory from the depths of this black land, forging deadly blades and siege-cannons, their bodies whipped relentlessly by the Communist pitmasters that ruled over them. Immense masonry blocks formed the foundation of this horned tower, and the architecture became more and more intricate as it grew higher. This was an iron palace of foul beauty, ruled by a dark sorcerer known only by one name far and wide: **_Karl Marx._**

However, this dark lord has yet to release his most deadly servant. Mightiest of the Communist legion, he who knows not of such American things like death. The biter of flesh, he who destroyed the last alliance of American heroes during the battle of the Gettysburg Address. He who rides upon the back of a she-dragon, last of kin to Pube-Slayer the Great. He who shall lead the Communist army to war against the Americaverse. The board is set, the pieces are moving. He is _Fidel Castro,_ and the Biker Brethren had fallen right into his trap.


	67. (2013) Birth of the Americaverse

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 18 - BIRTH OF THE AMERICAVERSE  
**

* * *

It all began with the holy matrimony of George Washington and Lady Liberty. Both very puissant energy beings, roaming the omniverse for eons, longing for a purpose in a place that existed outside of time. It was a patriotic love at first sight, and the two deities made sweet, American love to each other without hesitation, going nonstop for 777 days and 777 nights.

While savoring their sweaty flesh, George Washington cried out into the stars, singing a divine song of lust and beauty that was too magnificent to detail into the sinful tongue of mere mortals. In George's song, he spoke of a wondrous place full of patriotism and awe born from his greatest swevens and dreams. A land where men ride eagles and slay contumelious dinosaurs and she-beasts to and fro, and where even the smallest pair of patriotic loins could save the world from wickedness and Marxist depravity.

As a gift to his many wives, George Washington made this perfect world of which he spoke. His calloused hands rose the mountains from the earth and his protruding loins filled the planets with water. And with this divine creation, thus the Americaverse was born.

George Washington made the welkin ring with his creation, and foul beasts that roamed the galaxy such as demon-kin and arc-mage attercops were forbidden from entering this American land of peace and prosperity. Lady Liberty soon gave birth to many children, great deities and gods that would never be pizzled or punished, for their power was divine and patriotic. The Americaverse was where they would abide for all their days, protecting it alongside their kin and preserving the American way.

As his first gift, George Washington gave all nine of his children their own guitars so they could make beautiful hymns and music of their own. Led in song by George, the conclave of patriotic deities began playing the song of their family in perfect harmony, shredding the fuck out of their instruments. Though, one of them refused to play this song. He was John Adams, eldest and wisest of the nine, second wielder of the Communist Slayer. The dwimmer-crafty American played a different song on his guitar, and all were amazed by the sheer beauty of this musical wonder.

And thus with this dank hymn, black metal was invented, and all would bow before Adams in time. "Such beautiful melody, my son! Surely the fag-end of all who fathom such American grace! Forsooth, you shall one day be destined for great things of beauty unequaled," Saith George Washington, joining the others and praising his eldest son.

As his second gift, George Washington created the Americans. Fleshy and mortal beings they were, lesser than the deities but still patriotically righteous in their own right. His children were destined to watch after them in the Americaverse, observing and encouraging their development. Each Americanesque deity was assigned to a different planet, chosen according to their birthrights and abilities.

Thomas Jefferson left for the planet of Virginia, a people spiritually bound with freedom. Andrew Jackson settled on Tennessee's moonbase, where dwelled a people that above all desired power. James Garfield touched down on the moonbase of Detroit, a culture that enjoyed hunting and sports of honor. George W. Bush and Bill Clinton, both of which were powerful users of American sorcery, departed for the uncharted eastern galaxies and were never heard from again.

Teddy Roosevelt and William Howard Taft landed on the urban planet of New York. And finally Herbert Hoover, smallest and youngest of the nine, departed for the moonbase of Canada but disappeared before he reached the planet, believed by historians to have been devoured by the spirit of Sasquatch.

However, John Adams was not given a planet to rule, which greatly angered him. George Washington believed he was not ready to rule his own world, for he saw a sickness growing within him, an illness of the mind that shrouded his heart in shadow. The deities soon grew lustful over their own creations and began having passionate romance with the Americans, giving birth to demigods that were both half man and half deity. Fueled by his jealousy and relentless, ass-bothered negromancy, John Adams attempted to create his own sentient beings like the Americans.

The experiment failed horribly, giving birth to godless wretches whose loins were not girded and their hearts not filled with freedom. In years to come, these beasts would be known as Communists. They were the first beings of evil to enter the Americaverse, but more would follow in time. John Adams had yet to realize the full measure of his mistake, and his own creations marched throughout the Americaverse, kin-slaying every American they could.

Sin had been brought to the Americaverse, and George Washington's vision for American peace was dashed. The remaining deities left the Americaverse, cursing John Adams's name as they fled for their homeland that existed outside of time. The fate of Adams was set, his destiny now irreversible. He took upon a new name, and for that day forward he was known by his loyal Communist minions as _Adolf Hitler._


	68. (2013) Eyes of the Communist Dragon

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 19 - EYES OF THE COMMUNIST DRAGON  
**

* * *

Sonic Lincoln leapt down from the balcony and into the heart of the twisted foundry below. His face was bathed in corpse-paint, and his two nipples protruded erect from his hairy chest like bullets. He stabbed his own guitar into his abs for safekeeping, such a puissant hold that whomever were to remove this weapon from his mile long, glorious muscles would surely be crowned King Arthur. He whipped his flowing mane of hair backwards as he stood, and his brotherhood of steel joined him on the surface of this dark and ancient hill of Communist sorcery.

Garfield the Wise licked the elbow of a Communist soldier to try and gain its attention, though this skinheaded warrior of sin ignored the orange man-cat and went about its wicked business. "They will ignore us for as long as they believe we are not a threat. As is the way for such churlish man-chimps like themselves," Richard Nixon scoffed in a guttural, Cookie Monster growl. If Richard Nixon was ever turned into a pig, he would be a mean pig.

Charles Barkley recognized this faggot of bulwarks from his American history lessons on Detroit's moonbase. It was told that this was the sight of Charlie Brown's death at the hands of the dark warlord, Adolf Hitler.

He was beheaded, with the name of Adolf carved into his forehead and delivered back to his homeworld. After the news of his gruesome death, his eighteen children grieved over the death of their father and king. The eldest son, Snoopy, took up his father's sword and became the new king of Mount Bald Eagle, and by the doors of Adolf's lair he slew all of his generals at once, hewing off their heads and thenceforth keeping Adolf trapped in his own mountain for over five hundred moon-years.

The Bikers slogged onwards, brushing past thousands of dormant Communist soldiers that went about their business, fortifying the dark bulwark even further like runagate niggards and dotards. The brethren of patriots came upon a narrow bridge, and at its fag-end was an unsullied pit that fell into the deep darkness below. An opening carved into the ceiling allowed light to pour into this circular corridor, perhaps large enough for a doughty beast such as a she-wyrm to crawl through.

The sounds of wroth rustling filled the halls, echoing from the bottom of the pit like ten-thousand loins being girded in unison. It was all too clear for the patriots what the purpose of this barren corridor was for.

All that could be seen was the glow of its eyes and the glimmering shine of its yellowed fangs as it rose from the pit beneath their calloused feet. Its neck was miles long and swaddled in golden scales, with swart hair falling limply from its reptillian face like a toothsome tomnoddy from the depths of North Korean space. The beast's face met the gaping and all-consuming gaze of Sonic's feline eyes, the dragon's nostrils the size of Sonic Lincoln's entire majestic body.

The massive She-Dragon went by the title of _Pube-Swagger,_ ancestral mount of Fidel Castro. Born from the godless love of dinosaur and sasquatch, torn between both worlds but yet embracing them all at once. She who set the planet of New Jersey ablaze for forty days and forty nights, marching through the streets with thousands of machine-guns attached to every inch of her well toned body and muscles. All that crossed her path were decimated, and she wore a necklace hewn from the severed heads of her enemies upon her neck.

If this beast wasn't a hooting and hollering Communist fucklord from the fords of collard greens, Sonic would have loved to ride and command this majestic she-beast. He would tame her alone, wrestle her to the cold floor and prove that he was worthy to be her patriotic master. Sonic would become one with the beast, kissing the she-dragon with tongues ablaze as her rightful master, inhaling every spurt of her fiery saliva that would scorch his face like magma. If this ferocious she-dragon misbehaved, Sonic would slap her with great passion.

It would pain Sonic to beat his wife, but he knew it had to be done. Do not pity her, she has to learn.


	69. (2013) Garfield Decks Him the Fuck Out

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 20 - GARFIELD DECKS HIM THE FUCK OUT  
**

* * *

Sonic and his brotherhood of steel burgeoned forth with guitars alms-guest, but not before feasting upon a feeble bannock meal of mouldering lasagna retrieved from Garfield's satchel woven from thigh skin. Charles Barkley donned his raiments and baldrics of battle, hurling his cavalcade of throwing-knives at this churlish dragon.

The daggers grazed upon the dragon's cheek, ere upon the sound of ringing bells the beast spat out one hundred teeth like a first-time doobie smoker. The dragon grew besotted like a swart man that was darker in color than humans should be, her ire more fearsome than fire. The dragon ejaculated flames of many colors from its mouth, though the patriots swaggered out of the way before their loins could be singed. Richard Nixon says that allergies are Un-American, so he won't stop eating peanuts. What a greedy little cunt.

The dragon giggled the giggle of a man whose loins were not girded and heart not filled with patriotism and the emotions of people whose skin was not yellow. "You are all foolish little American tosspots before my reptilian swagger! All fat little fucks, those who do not know of my ferocity and grace! I will brand my name into your pelvis so that all women who covet your physique shall flee in fright from the message carved into your aroused loins! Pucker thou'st buttock and pray for mercy!" The great wyrm hollered with passionate threats, lips puckering with every word that fled from her jaws.

Garfield leapt atop the flaming wyrm's tail, swinging his chainsaw nunchucks ferociously as he strode up her barbed spine. "Americans are not fat, they are full of _freedom!"_ Garfield cooed with passion like a Bald eagle in heat, slicing off one of the dragon's many horns. He took up the fag-end of the great wyrm's cudgel and stabbed this swarthy malefactor relentlessly, blinding her in both eyes before slicing a gash upon her throat. He used her blood as corpse paint as he wrestled this righteous beast to the ground, pounding her with his fists like a bad husband would.

The bikers leapt atop the dragon and pinned her to the ashen ground with their guitars. Garfield dropped his blue jeans to the floor and engraved the immortal word 'lasagna' into her skull with his nunchucks, slaying the accursed she-dragon without pity or remorse. "Of all the motherfuckers I've met, you're the motherfuckest," Garfield scoffed with lips covered in red, white and blue lipstick. Charles Barkley and Sonic were so excited for their slumber party that they couldn't sleep.

In another time and place, Abraham Lincoln dismounted from the elevator and entered what appeared to be a dungeon. Rats and flittermice scattered as the holy light naturally emitted by Lincoln filled the room. Abraham gazed upon these hells of iron with his feline-eyes widened, the faces of prisoners surrounding his vision like beacons from their confines. His lips puckered as he gazed upon a swart man covered in firm, leather skin staring back at him.

Abraham snapped the bars like mere twigs with a pelvic thrust, kneeling before the prisoner festering within. He was _Bill Cosby the Magnificent,_ a childhood friend of Lincoln and a fellow demigod. Father of the righteous twins Dilbert and Dogbert, Cosby was the man who slayed Adolf Hitler's thirty illegitimate wives and aided in the siege of the Haunted Mountains of the Führer. Now only one question remained: who was the cosmic fuckmeister behind this godless act of imprisoning such an American hero?

"Zippity zop zoobity zooboo zoo," Bill Cosby murmured in his native language, having dreams of milk, honey, and eating the fuck out of a Jell-O Pudding Pop in his mind. Abraham smiled passionately as he heard his native banshee wail. "Zibbity zobbity zipple zop zoop zoo," Lincoln replied heartily, being very fluent in Cosby's language.


	70. (2013) Assault on the Communists' Lair

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 21 - ASSAULT ON THE COMMUNISTS' LAIR  
**

* * *

Abraham Lincoln watched over the ancient woodwright for many a fortnight, delivering the wizened Cosby his patriotic sustenance with a soup fashioned from three tussocks and no small amount of Sasquatch saliva. "...After I beheaded the foul sodomites Tom and Jerry, I made passionate love with ten gorilla wives of all ethnicities in front of their collective families. If you don't think that's the tightest shit, then get out of my face!" Abe Lincoln hobnobbed like a huge faggot, finishing one of his legendary puns for Bill Cosby.

Abraham had almost fallen asleep upon the seventh day, even though he doesn't sleep because such acts are Un-American. Cosby had regained his strength at long last, slapping Lincoln upon his clenched buttocks and awaking him in a cold sweat. Except it wasn't cold, it was actually steaming hot. And it wasn't sweat either, but rather some sort of strange face urine. And it came from his pants. Meanwhile, Barkley and Sonic were obsessing over an elaborate scavenger hunt for seven days.

Bill Cosby tugged upon Abraham's sleeves and gazed deep into the trenches wreathed with flames that were his gaping feline eyes. "Abraham Lincoln, protector of the sacred necklace hewn from the Führer's yellowed teeth! The last descendant of the divine liberty-kin, he who mounted ten-thousand Grizzly virgins and lived to tell the tale! You must leave me, a dark force has permeated this land. Far beyond the power of you or I, an astral sword-thain of dank fuckeries unequaled!" Bill Cosby sputtered with fear, his bony fingers fondling Lincoln's beard with lust.

"Just as I had expected, this is undoubtedly a Communist trap. Come to me, Freedom-Song! _TALA-HOO!"_ The demigod guffawed with passion in his native tongue, summoning his righteous eagle steed by clicking his heels no more than three times. His patriotic escort materialized before him, for eagles and all patriotic beasts existed on another plane of reality.

Abraham took Cosby into his arms and mounted his steed, pulling upon the reins of his majestic comrade so that they may soar and collect their allies. He wrote the entirety of the United States Constitution upon Cosby's forehead, an ancient rune that would twinkle when hipsters were around.

Freedom-Song soared through the satellite of Patriotism VII, his girdle tightly woven to keep the patriots riding upon him from falling to their doom. The eagle descended into the flaming depths of the Communist homeland, crashing through the ignoble bulwarks and battlements wreathed with spikes. Freedom-Song tore apart many a Communist ghyll and leaguer for its own amusement, lifting up Arabs with its talons and tossing them to and fro like bread crumbs for some sort of godless man-bird hybrid.

Fully armored Communist soldiers poured from the sky like rain, latching onto Freedom-Song's feathers with fangs bared and loins girded. "We cannot shake them! What astral fuckromancy is this?" Bill Cosby goggled in his guttural speech, taking up Lincoln's Communist-Slayer to sweep the man-chimps off and back to whence they came. The only thing comparable was having a hotdog-eating contest with Jesus.

Abraham and Cosby armed themselves with a habergeon of chainmail, additionally wielding custom machine-guns bathed in red, white and blue paint. Freedom-Song brought the American heroes to the face of a balcony before halting, allowing them to unload and slay the fuck out of hundreds of Communist and terrorist soldiers that ran rampant in this foundry of wickedness.

Knowing the poor quality of Commie architecture, Abraham sliced upon a rope with his guitar, and with it many of the black towers crumbled and fell in which this lone rope supported. Cosby reached for Abraham's spare guitar, throwing it outwards so that it may behead no fewer than five-hundred Arabs before returning back to him like a loyal boomerang. And so as he commanded, so shall it be. Sonic and Barkley were having trouble on their scavenger hunt, and Richard Nixon ended up arguing with a sentient latrine for safe passage.


	71. (2013) Richard Nixon's Betrayal

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 22 - RICHARD NIXON'S BETRAYAL  
**

* * *

Abraham Lincoln and Bill Cosby ran through this accursed stronghold of wicked sorcery with hordes of Communist soldiers pursuing from behind. As was prophesied, the skeletons of patriots that dared to enter this haunted mountain of sin were strung upon the walls with chains dangling from their bony dangalangs. "Bill Cosby, I have a riddle for you. Why can't Communists dance?" Abraham asked with pride, riding atop his righteous skateboard with gyrating hips.

"Why?" Retorted Cosby with passion, ramming into a Communist head-first and impaling him with his iron skull. "Because they're fucking dead!" Abraham laughed heartily while stroking the forest of hair upon his chin, hurling a burning American flag at the Communist hoard. The flames spread, and with them an Americanesque explosion erupted like a mighty squib which mutilated the hoard and sent their flaming loins falling from the sky like rain.

These two guileful gaffers tread upon an iron hummock in the nethermost levels of the dark tower and kicked down the gate atop it, and by mischance they came upon the four members of the Biker Brethren dwelling within. The brotherhood was feasting upon a light nuncheon, having just slew the Communist pitmasters with an American fervor. "Abraham Lincoln! You hath returned!" Sonic hobnobbed passionately, falling to his knees with profound and American feelings of pride for his adoptive father.

Richard Nixon burgeoned forth, grinning from ear to ear like a sable thrall who hath just extinguished his American master, clapping slowly with each step. "Bill Cosby, you have done the Communist empire a great kindness with your wicked servitude. As I have promised, your honor that was stolen from your family during the battle of Watergate is restored. Now, deliver me the dotard's guitar so that we may present it to our leechcrafty master as a burnt offering," Nixon reviled in a guttural snarl, and as he commanded Cosby handed him Lincoln's ancestral guitar without further question.

A hoard of swarthy Communist marchwardens revealed themselves from the nightshade, subduing the patriots before they could act with shackles forged of black magic for the hands and feet. "NIXON! What is this treachery of which you utter from your foul and noisome lips? And to think, I almost trusted you. You shall release us now or I'll smack your shit!" Sonic ordered with passionate threats. The only thing equivalent to his anger would be passing ten-thousand kidney stones made of fire.

Richard Nixon strode forth and smacked Sonic upon his puckered cheeks. "Your words are poison, you dotard hailing from a shameful family of American niggards! You could have fled and saved your worthless lives, but instead you foolishly decided to travel onward. You shall all be sacrificed for the glory of Karl Marx, he who every Communist worships with profound lust. Your necks shall be wrung, and no man shall ever find your corpses!" Nixon scoffed with his betrayal, standing by Bill Cosby's side. "You may not be a crook, but you are one nasty-ass nigga," Garfield jeered at Nixon, smoking a lasagna joint.

The Communist soldiers marched upwards and to the topmost point of the tower with the American heroes taken as their captives, Nixon leading them forth with a wicked swagger and a jaunty tune. Cosby remained near the rearguard of the line, his head hung in shame as if he had begun to regret his shameful decision. Charles Barkley was but a gentle and caring soul, and so he wept many righteous tears. Forsooth, the Richard Nixon he knew and loved was now dead, and his memory defiled.

The brotherhood of steel came upon a large hall at the zenith of the black tower. Instruments of alchemy and godless sorcery lined the walls, and a mural of Adolf Hitler was emblazoned upon the ceiling. Truly, this place was like an oppressive parapet of shadow with a vice-like grip that wrapped around them like a serpent of Communist horror. Unholy as fuck, in short.

Upon his ashen throne of dust and bone was a corpulent and wizened dotard, his face pallid with heavily lidded eyes that shone red in the blackness. A crooked and pale beard hung limply from his calloused, serpentine facial features, and the guitars of those his armies slew were beneath his feet. His many wicked consorts stood beside his throne, and the symbol of an Ouroboros was carved upon the obsidian floor. _This was the domain of Karl Marx._

"Ooh! What is it? Crunchy and wet little Americans? I like those, they squirm and wriggle when I bites their scrotum! Sticky, wet, they bleed juicy red! Oh, yes they do! Yes! Let me eats them and makes love to their corpses master, please?" A wrinkled and sallow creature swaddled in a black cloak begged, a deranged little wretch known as _Adam Sandler_ who was born from a marriage Karl Marx would like to forget.

"Silence your forked tongue hidden beneath your yellowed teeth, you worm. You have no power here!" A towering and imposing figure boomed at Sandler, slapping him upon his puckered buttocks. He was garbed in the Godless Sasquatch War Armor that was once worn by Herbert Hoover before he was tortured and his body desecrated by hipsters. Surely, this must be Fidel Castro, although he wasn't the swarthy fucklord that the legends had described. Sonic would even argue that he looked somewhat Americanesque, however he would not let Castro's deceivingly rugged charm and finely toned abs poison his mind. Sonic would never have such homoerotic emotions.


	72. (2013) Freedom-Song and the Eagle Kin

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 23 - FREEDOM-SONG AND THE EAGLE KIN  
**

* * *

The loathsome haggard Karl Marx coughed and wheezed upon his obsidian throne, blood dribbling from his puckered lips as he wrapped his chode-like fingers around the Communist-Slayer. Marx was grossly incontinent, and it showed as he sputtered the grand prize of his colon atop his throne that doubled as a urinal of silver and gold. He took a puff out of his hookah pipe, blowing smoke in Fidel Castro's face before clearing his throat with thunderous rumbles and grunts that almost mimicked the joyous sounds of American intercourse.

"You hath done the Communist brotherhood a great service with your betrayal, Richard 'Communism' Nixon. With George Washington's ancestral and divine guitar in our grasp, we shall shred the fuck out of the Americaverse in the holy name of our Führer slain in battle long ago. Extinguish these American niggards and dribble-lips at your leisure," Marx grumbled throatily alongside the consorts by his corpulent side, cleaning himself with a filthy copy of the United States Constitution that was prior soaked in a trough of murky water. Meanwhile, Adam Sandler wanted to marry a sentient latrine but his father disapproved of their controversial romance.

The gate resting in the nethermost corner of the chamber creaked open, and hither stepped a sable and wicked Communist inquisitor. He was a red, furred creature known as _Elmo._ His rippling chest and abs were covered in self-inflicted scars, and a blood-stained doo rag swaddled his balding and wrinkled forehead. Elmo's sole mission was to torture innocent American souls to draw secrets like blood is drawn from a wound. The hooting and hollering dolemite unsheathed his instruments of foul torture and depravity, licking his lips as he strode forth with gyrating hips.

"You're in Elmo's World now, motherfuckers!" The crimson warlord sneered with a sensual passion, striking Abraham Lincoln with three lashes of his barbed whip and no more. His depraved and malevolent Communist audience roared and applauded, and the pitiable thrall Adam Sandler foamed from the mouth with twisted pleasure. Nixon merely stood among the enemy and spoke not, meeting Sonic's gaze as he was tortured by the inquisitor. Nixon sighed, "I warned you to leave, American. Don't look upon me with such hatred. If you had fled, you would have been spared..."

However, the warlord Elmo had yet to reveal his most deadly and godless weapon. The impious, vile torturer from the depths of Arab space withdrew an electric guitar from within his loincloth, forged from within the white citadel of Mount Bald Eagle and hewn from the same rock that was graven into the holy carved images of Mount Rushmore eons ago. Garfield thought back to a happier time, when he beheaded the sodomite Jon Arbuckle with his katana for smoking all of his dank lasagna kush.

The most dishonorable of deaths for a patriot was being extinguished by a holy American blade, and that's exactly what Elmo planned to do, having tortured innocent American souls all his life so that he may know of their every weakness and flaw for the sheer glory of Karl Marx. Elmo was such an impure and shameful fucklord that he would fornicate atop a burning American flag with ten-thousand shark wives who were committing a detestable act of adultery against their well groomed and upright American husbands.

"Why art thou loins not girded, patriots? No witty jabs or insults of the wicked Communist sodomy? You niggards are no purer than the foul Mr. Noodle, who I slew when I was only but a small fuckling with my bare ass hands. You do not have the right to bear arms, whimper before me and pray to your American gods!" Elmo roared with the utmost pride in his malevolent work.

"You are right yee' foul inquisitor, I do not have the right to bear arms. But I do have the right to _bear legs!"_ Abraham Lincoln hobnobbed in a throaty grumble, and without warning he grew the hairy and swart legs of a bear that were wreathed with claws, tearing his blue jeans as his bear legs grew in size and strength.

"Fuck you, I'm Abraham Lincoln! _God bless America!"_ Honest Abe roared like a mighty grizzly, mauling Elmo with his firm-muscled Grizzly bear legs before beheading him with a pelvic thrust. Lincoln snapped his shackles, wasting no time in freeing his fellow brothers in arms. Freedom-Song and his kinsmen descended from above to aid the patriots against the enemy of all free men, lifting up the Americans with their talons and slaying a great deal of Karl Marx's henchmen.

Among the patriots lifted into the nightshade above was Bill Cosby, these righteous eagles knowing not of his fall into Communist servitude. The depraved sorcerer Karl Marx took up Lincoln's Communist-Slayer, throwing it far outwards and into the sky as Fidel Castro and his soldiers took up their machine guns and raiment of war. The divine guitar succeeded in beheading the eagle that carried Sonic mid-flight, the only weapon in this dimension powerful enough to commit such a detestable act. Sonic fell deep into the abyss of space, down to the nethermost corners of the Americaverse.

Not even Abraham Lincoln could save Sonic now as he plunged down the endless void of space, deep within the depths of Communist territory.


	73. (2013) The Voice of Karl Marx

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 24 - THE VOICE OF KARL MARX  
**

* * *

"Fidel Castro, most foul and wicked of the impious legions of Germany, did I ever tell you how the Communist people came into this sinful world?" Karl Marx gurgled in a throaty grumble, staring out from the zenith of his dark tower upon the bloodthirsty hordes and legions at his disposal. He fondled the wispy hairs upon his silver beard alongside Castro, gazing upon the foot of the tower. Adam Sandler and the Communists were practicing a new pastime that consisted of huffing Abraham Lincoln's underpants to get high.

"They were created by Adolf Hitler, he who we owe all of our lives. A black wraith he was, a sorcerer of godless leechcraft. Once an American himself, his lust for power consumed him, coveting strength like a perverted niggard covets the physique of all slags who walk and utter noisome words from their poisoned lips. He would remove his hood, revealing only a jagged crown of silver and a furrowed beard upon his lips with no visible face. He cried out in many ancient tongues forgotten by men, from a face unseen to all but his most wicked servants. Inseparable from reality, for he was fear itself," Karl Marx continued after a period of silence, furrowing his eyebrows and taking a sip from his chalice of dinosaur blood.

Karl Marx lurched forward with great difficulty back to his chamber, collapsing upon his throne and plummeting into another coughing fit. He rested his feet upon Elmo's decapitated head, now pallid and wrinkled as all the blood had escaped hours ago and pooled into the corner of the room. Adam Sandler kept the headless body to play out his own twisted desires, like any Communist would.

Marx gazed into the comely and handsome eyes of Castro, grinning wide with his yellowed fangs bared to all. "Hitler coveted his own Americans to mate with, those who would lay eyes upon his wicked loins and not howl and flee from fright. He crafted their love handles with his calloused fingers, filling their lifeblood with the juices from his wizened dangalang. For many generations we lived in servitude to our holy forger, before he was slain in battle by the hands of a detestable American foe of whom all Communists loathe and fear. I was his eldest and wisest apprentice, destined to rule over his empire after his destruction," The haggard bellowed, six tears rolling down his aged cheeks as he recalled the memories of his adoptive father who taught him everything he knew and held dear.

This was the most satanic number of tears, and as each fell from his wrinkled face an American fell over somewhere. Fidel Castro nodded, leaving his elderly master to oversee the Communist battalions in which he commanded. He brandished a glittering knife concealed beneath his cloak, probably the most flamboyant and homosexual knife that ever was. "One day..." Fidel Castro grumbled with his teeth gritted, placing the dagger back in its sheath.

Elsewhere, deep within the unexplored depths of the Americaverse, Sonic fluttered his eyes open and furrowed his bushy eyebrows as he awoke in a strange and foreign keep hidden between two deeply cloven mountains. The American hedgehog found himself upon a silken bed, of which was much too comfortable for such a rugged patriot. Sonic often preferred a nice boulder to sleep atop.

He also found his finely toned muscles swathed in linens of white and gold, though he quickly tore them off in favor of his classic blue jeans and biker jacket combo. Sonic was a pioneer of patriotic fashions. He was often found wiping sweat and other unspeakable bodily fluids from his forehead with a red, white and blue handkerchief. Today was no exception, even in uncharted territory.

The coarse patriot strode forth, looking down from a balcony positioned at the leftmost niche of the chamber in which he slept. He observed a land of patriotic tranquility populated by upright and god-fearing American men, abundant with freedoms that even such a legendary patriot as himself had yet to experience. Teeming with majestic, curved architecture surely forged by patriot craftsmen carved into the great peaks abound, amassing a large city of ivory and gold that enveloped the mountainside from all angles.

Never before had Sonic seen such a patriotic haven grace his eyes. Truly, this was the American dream in which he had been told stories of all his life. A single tear of pride fell from his eyes, and as any patriot would, he dropped his pants to the ground and howled into the sky for many hours. An act so patriotic that righteous eagles descended from the skies above and landed atop his broad shoulders, joining him in the throaty song of his people.

"I'm glad to see that you hath been healed, my slamming and jamming American brother. It has been a long time since our paths have crossed, a day I have greatly longed for," A much familiar sight spoke in the deep and heavenly voice of a true American hero, his arms spread wide as he creaked open the door leading to Sonic's dwellings. It took only one look for Sonic to realize who had uttered these angelic words. And he cried tears of joy as he gazed upon the swart and rugged face of the man at his doorstep.

It was _**Michael Jordan.**_


	74. (2013) Sonic and Michael Jordan Reunited

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 25 - SONIC AND MICHAEL JORDAN REUNITED  
**

* * *

Sonic and his righteous brother strode forth and delved into a secret corridor trimmed with gold, hidden from behind a waterfall in which was its liquid cloak. Michael Jordan parted the raging waters with his guitar athwart, swishing his pale robes behind him as he guided Sonic within the entrance way to the catacombs of this ancient mountain. They came upon a wide chamber, hewn from the rock of this legendary butte with an assortment of great thrones encircling a large table placed in the middlemost niche of the room.

A triangular crevice was carved into the roof that allowed light to fill the otherwise sable blackness. Sonic was led to sit his ass down upon a throne that seemed tailor made for such a righteous patriot, with great treasures from his homeworld on Kentucky's moonbase emblazoned upon its face. Michael Jordan rested parallel to his half-brother upon a throne made of many basketballs taped together with consummate skill.

The leftmost gate creaked open behind them, and out stepped a patriotic fellowship swathed in the same robes that Michael Jordan wore upon his mahogany-like skin. Sonic could recognize very few amongst their ranks, among these few was the proud feline warlord Snoop Lion and the fair maiden Anne Frank. They elegantly sat upon the remaining thrones, Snoop Lion smiling at Sonic with his puckered lips that were cracked from decades of doobie smoking.

"As promised by thy ancestors, the _Last Alliance of True American Heroes_ will now come to order. Each of you righteous and upright men and women, each in two representing your homeworlds scattered far across the Americaverse. We hath all passed the tests to prove our patriotic worth. Whether that be slaying impious dinosaurs or having a passionate romance with a virgin Grizzly bear, we have all earned our honor," Snoop Lion spoke in his heavenly speech, resting his hand upon Sonic's shoulder while the other members of this alliance nodded in approval.

Sonic's dangalang boiled with confusion, so he leapt atop the table and looked upon the stalwart gazes of the alliance members. "What sort of buttmassive negromancy dost thou utter from thy American lips? Surely, is it not the teachings of our patriotic ancestors to not be so fucking confusing like a babbling sand-monkey from the east? Thou shalt slam with the best, or thou shalt jam with the rest!" The American hedgehog lectured ferociously, for he was a honest soul who always spoke what was on his mind. The other council members were clearly impressed by his ferocity and swagger.

"Do I need to slap your shit? I know a buddy who is an expert on slapping your shit!" Rick Harrison threatened Sonic from across the table, who in turn was one of the representatives attending the council. Snoop Lion shot the wizened haggard a stern glare, pressing his fingertips together as he began to speak again. "Yes, of course. Such curiosity is truly American! We are the Last Alliance, a council brought together by our ancestors to discuss what is to be done to combat the whack-ass Communist Empire that is preparing for war. We have taken you to the White House, a haven that exists outside of time itself. Death has no power here," Snoop Lion briefed the committee, meeting the hedgehog's gaze with a firm nod.

Michael Jordan garnered Sonic's attention by punching him upon his face, as such was a formal American greeting that was widely accepted as a holy ritual in which all upright and god-fearing men would enact.

Jordan combed the swart hairs upon his chest, wetting the rims of his puckered lips with his silver tongue before speaking aloud before the council. "The other members of our alliance are Scooby-Doo, Hank Hill, Bugs Bunny, Dilbert, Cory Baxter VII, and the revered Captain Picard. They will be instrumental in the plot to overthrow Karl Marx and extinguish the detestable Communist Empire of wicked sodomy," Jordan spoke aloud in his guttural speech, introducing the alliance to each other formally for the first time.

Sonic couldn't help but ponder the fate of the Biker Brethren, who were centuries away from this heavenly dwelling from the nethermost corners of existence itself.


	75. (2013) Bonding of the Last Alliance

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 26 - BONDING OF THE LAST ALLIANCE  
**

* * *

Michael Jordan stood upright before this council of wizened warriors, his muscles so firm that anyone could have sworn he was taking Gorilla Juice to have become so righteous in strength and divinity. Of course, this was not the case, because the only drug Michael Jordan would ever need is the milk of freedom that was suckled from the teats of Lady Liberty.

"This is nary a petty quest ahead of you, my patriotic brethren. Many of you may not even return from the cobblestone road ahead that all patriots walk alone. You may kill hundreds, even thousands of Communist warlords on the path you shall stride upon before you can truly save our American galaxies," Snoop Lion briefed the alliance of the dangers ahead, blowing smoke rings from his lips that were shaped like eagles. "The most I can kill is five," Rick Harrison conceded. Sonic wasn't far from choking this fat curmudgeon for his lack of faith in America.

While the eldest members of the council spoke amongst themselves, Captain Picard regaled Sonic and the alliance of his many patriotic adventures across the Americaverse. "...The Prime Directive wasn't the only thing getting violated that night when I engaged in her Jefferies Tubes. I set her Dilithium crystals on fire, and then extinguished the flames with my flesh-phaser's Armus sludge. Needless to say, Grizzly bears are kinky in bed," Captain Picard finished his story with a smile and hearty laugh. The other members of the council were clearly disgusted, yet amazed at the same time.

"Now I'll tell you what, all you need to court a woman is some WD-40 and a zippo in her buckwheat farm. Ya'll boys ain't right with your detestable sodomy," Hank Hill jeered in a friendly manner, Scooby-Doo nodding his canine head in agreement. In that moment, Sonic knew that he had quite a patriotic adventure ahead of him if he had to cooperate with these prideful boobies to destroy the forces of Communism once and for all.

Elsewhere, the eagle kinsmen swooped down and released the Biker Brethren atop the ashen peaks of a mountain deep within the nethermost corners of Arab space. Freedom-Song nodded towards Abraham Lincoln as a gesture of his gratitude, departing with his kin back to Canada's moonbase. Abraham Lincoln crinkled his nose in disgust as he gazed upon the wizened face of the traitorous Bill Cosby, slapping him to the ground with nary a moment of hesitation. He took up Charles Barkley's divine guitar, holding it up to the miserly skinflint's neck as he strode forth with swaggering hips.

"I beg of you, spare my pitiable life! I can further explain my detestable act, but you must give me a chance! I will even spare you one of my Pudding Pops as a sign of good fortune!" Bill Cosby begged upon his knees with lips quivering. Abraham relinquished his grip on the weapon to hear the niggardly man's tale. "Fine, but I'm keeping the Pudding Pop," Lincoln rasped in a guttural snarl, eating the frozen treat whole. He even swallowed the stick, as any god-fearing American man would.

Cosby coughed and wheezed, rubbing upon his nearly gutted neck as he stood upright before the infuriated patriots. "Forgive me for deceiving you, it was not my true intention. Ya' see, the fair maiden Anne Frank instructed me to keep a watchful eye over your patriotic quest. Forsooth, the American demigods had gained knowledge that Nixon was a Communist spy, his heart twisted and defiled by Karl Marx's silver tongue. I purposely fell into Communist servitude to keep my identity a secret, though the mission went awry and I was forced to relinquish the Communist-Slayer to their impious armies. If I had revealed myself sooner, surely Nixon would have slew you all," The wizened dotard confessed. Lincoln nodded, placing his guitar back in its sheath after listening to his plea.

Charles Barkley spat upon Cosby's feet, clearly not believing his accusations. "It was your plan that got my uncle killed, or even worse! Because of your inaction, the patriotic hedgehog who we owe our lives may have been captured and slaughtered by the Communist Empire like a mere bitch nigger! I could never forgive you or your astral sodomy and negromancy," Barkley rasped with great contempt for the mahogany niggard. "I hate Mondays almost as much as I hate Communists," Garfield murmured under his breath, taking a bite out of a skull he found upon the ashen ground.


	76. (2013) Hunters of the Biker Brethren

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 27 - HUNTERS OF THE BIKER BRETHREN  
**

* * *

The impious sorcerer Karl Marx stood amongst his loyal consorts, of whom each heart was spoiled by his forked silver tongue that could defile even the most faultless of righteous men. The skinflinty wizard gazed out from the zenith of his sable tower and frowned, for few other griefs among the sinful world shared the same bitterness for a Communist than a single shred of hope. For in the most forlorn of times, hope would rise like a great shape of righteousness before the flames engulfing this wicked land. Adam Sandler was threatening to kill himself over bad Mexican food which could give even the most fortified of bowels the runs.

Walking under the archway of which no mortal man could touch, for hope was beyond reasoning. Beyond the power of even the most foul of Communist warlords. It would ravage their way of life, the legacy of Karl Marx and his forefathers crumbled and limp like the loins of a wizened dotard upon the uncloaked bosom of a noisome slag. Hope was a unmoving, steadfast, and graven as the carved images of Mount Rushmore. The words of hope and its teachings were poison to the ears of Karl Marx and his consorts. The Biker Brethren now embodied the hope that smote Marx's foul and godless heart, and thus their destiny was to be slew by his advancing Communist forces he sent to hunt them.

"And thus, it is settled. The Last Alliance shall depart east, into the leftmost borders of the wild sand-nigger territory currently under Communist occupation. Hither you shall slay the bumper-lips and dinosaurs dwelling across the shaws of this godless wasteland. Also, Scooby-Doo, nobody believes that you have a girlfriend that lives in Canada. So shut your whore mouth, you homoerotic fucklord. Our patriotic council is now adjourned," Snoop Lion spoke aloud in his angelic voice with the utmost pride, parting his arms to give each of the patriots a righteous hug with the ferocity of ten-thousand Grizzly bears in heat. Bugs Bunny died while trying to recite an intricate song and dance routine for Snoop Lion, so he shall not be participating in the journey.

Snoop Lion and the fair maiden Anne Frank stood atop the dock at the gates of the White House, wishing the patriots safe travel with powerful incantations of pious divinity. The Last Alliance was given everything they would need before departing back into the Americaverse to begin their journey to extinguish Communism at long last: many copies of the Holy Bible personally signed by Kevin James, a flask of whiskey brewed in America, and of course their righteous metallic steeds in which they would tame and court like women of beauty unequaled. All were Harley Davidson motorcycles, featuring flames emblazoned upon their ivory faces and sporting leather seats trimmed with gold.

As was tradition, the seven mighty patriots courted their motorcycles with passionate massages and make-out sessions to bond with their heavenly mounts. Michael Jordan was the most sensual with his metallic steed. "Do you have a fair lass back home that ye' would care to court, my brethren? When I return to my homeland, I would like to marry the house," Cory Baxter spoke aloud in his native Scottish accent, mounting his palfrey of steel and unsheathing his flamethrower-guitar, of which was a gift from his ancestors. Dilbert has to feed his cat every thirty minutes or it will die.

"Cory, you must understand. The only woman I could ever love is freedom. Forsooth, I would even sing a hymn of her divine and innate beauty, but the words of the song are too beauteous to utter in the tongue of mere mortals," Michael Jordan reminded his brotherhood of steel, and all were inspired by his devotion to patriotic swagger. The patriots would abide their time in this haven no further a fortnight, striding forth and passing inside a gaping wormhole of red, white and blue spokes summoned by Anne Frank's divine sorcery.

Elsewhere, Abraham Lincoln tied a barbed chain around Bill Cosby's neck to keep a watchful eye atop the overweening haggard. Charles Barkley quaffed deeply from his pint of ale, shooting Bill Cosby many glares of scorn and contempt with ferocious swagger unequaled. The patriots constructed a bivouac lodging hewn from Lincoln's wispy chest hair. As was custom, Garfield lit a fire by tossing his lasagna joint upon the coarse sands of this desert wasteland. They had wandered through these deserts for days upon end, with nary a sight of any civilization.

"Send word to Karl Marx, the American scum hath been found," Vladimir Lenin gurgled in a guttural growl, staring down from a mountain peak overshadowing the Biker Brethren below. He and his subhuman Communist battalions departed into the east, his detestable scribe sending the regards of the most feared Communist Lieutenant in the Americaverse. He who was ordered to extinguish the Biker Brethren for the glory of Karl Marx, to slay each and all and offer their corpses as burnt sacrifices.


	77. (2013) Vladimir Lenin Could Use a Hand

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 28 - VLADIMIR LENIN COULD USE A HAND  
**

* * *

"The road ahead must be trod, nary an easy task awaits us. Rely upon thine own self, for strength nor wisdom shall carry you further. No hopes, no dreams. Only patriotism can save your whack-ass now," Michael Jordan spoke aloud, tying an American flag around his neck in which would be his flowing cloak. The Last Alliance drifted through the void atop their motorcycles, for ahead was a godless land of horrors that could be described in no language. This place was bathed in a garnet shine visible to all that illuminated nothing, making visible stars intertwined with the shimmering eyes of beasts unimaginable that thrived in these places dark and empty. An hour into his wedding, Rick Harrison still doesn't realize that his bride is a sentient slice of pizza named Steve.

Elsewhere, the Biker Brethren fed upon a feeble nuncheon of steaming lasagna grits with a side of freedom as the sun rose. Charles Barkley kept watch over his Americanesque brothers, curving his lips into a smile as Lincoln regaled his comrades with many tales and legends of fiery patriotic swagger unrivaled. As ordered by Garfield, Bill Cosby buried his head in the sand so that all may trod upon his face with nary a concern. As is an acceptable punishment in any culture.

Over the horizon and ashen hogbacks of this godless land formed a feeble hoard of Arabs, all riding astride their godless Velociraptor mounts. As with all filthy terrorists, they were swathed in accursed linens of white that cloaked their swart and disfigured skin. They played their screeching snake-tamer music, a banshee wail of a tune reminiscent of Helen Keller trying to play smooth jazz. Such contempt and disregard for patriotism disgusted Abraham Lincoln, so he spat blood and undigested bits of lasagna upon the sand.

However, these subhuman swertings would never come alone. Leading the hoard with a battalion of Communist warlords was the impious lieutenant known as _Vladimir Lenin,_ surely unleashed by the will of Karl Marx to hunt down the Biker Brethren and slay them. "Cursed are you and your collective mothers, you loin-thirsty bumper lips! The only reason my weapon doesn't have a name is because Motherfucking Communist Pimp Choking Rim Jobbing Crotch Crunching Monday Hating Shit Slapping Ass Biter is too long!" Garfield howled ferociously with fangs bared, charging with his comrades into battle.

Charles Barkley leapt nimbly from his perch, severing an Arab's right arm with his shimmering katana and then decapitating him with a sweeping slam-dunk. Lenin swung his heavy mace with little effort, the fag-end of this deadly weapon grazing upon Abraham Lincoln's cheek. Barkley gracefully mutilated one of the bloodthirsty velociraptors as he charged to his unarmed father's aid, lending Lincoln his ancestral katana that was a gift from Michael Jordan.

Garfield tore upon his shirt, shifting his fat and using his protruding gut to bludgeon one of the Communist marchwardens to death. Barkley and his grandfather dueled with the skinflinty lieutenant as Garfield and Cosby slew the Arabs and the rides they strode upon, piling the mouldering dinosaur corpses in a heap in which they would light upon fire for warmth in the midst of the night. Lincoln wielded his blade with grace and consummate skill, slicing majestic and curved gashes upon Lenin's forehead that formed the shape of a soaring bald eagle.

Charles Barkley disarmed the miserly dotard, slicing off both of Vladimir Lenin's skeletal hands that could create only detestable works of sin. "Ha! These injuries are nothing to a Communist. Your swagger is weak and feeble! Hearken unto me, for I am but a glimpse of the Communist horrors that await you. The eyes of Karl Marx see all, his reach is everlasting! His armies are advancing, our king yet again has his crown!" Lenin guffawed with the utmost pride, spitting upon Lincoln's face. Garfield spared him no mercy, lifting him up by his neck and hurling this ornery fucklord into the fiery sun.

"More shall come in time, patriotism alone may not be enough to protect our American loins. We shall garb ourselves in the raiment of the enemy, a skin of evil that shall shield us from the all-seeing eyes of Karl Marx. We shall pose as a rabble of subhuman Arabs, detestable sand-monkeys of which no man shall pay heed," Abraham Lincoln spoke aloud in his heavenly speech, wrapping a towel of sackcloth around his head in which he pilfered from a terrorist corpse. Garfield still doesn't realize the dinosaur he is playing poker with is a corpse.


	78. (2013) The Threshold of Mother Russia

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 29 - THE THRESHOLD OF MOTHER RUSSIA  
**

* * *

From the outer-lying gates of Karl Marx's sable halls hewn from obsidian, hither strode forth the swarthy warlord Vladimir Lenin. His skin was charred and his body defiled, and his severed hands were replaced with chainsaws impaled into the stubs of his arms. His graven gaze moved upwards, beholding Karl Marx and his royal consorts staring down upon him from their thrones.

"Is he the one who failed us, father? He is, he is! He smells of gnawed skin and bone, it scrapes his flesh! Bites at his heels! He gurgles only sin from his forked tongue! Lies! Lies! So I call him _Pootie Tang!_ A foul name of which shalt shame his family! _Eats him!_ We should eats him! _Kill the Pootie Tang!"_ Adam Sandler burbled savagely, only to be struck by Richard Nixon to silence this pitiable fuckling. Karl Marx stroked his stubby digits throughout Lenin's wispy hair, blood dripping down his puckered lips as he tightened his grasp around the niggard's gullet.

The wizened haggard grinned deviously, his yellowed teeth reflecting the light of this unholy dwelling. He channeled his rage and godless sorcery through the Communist-Slayer, conjuring the spirit of Sasquatch and using necromancy to summon a loathsome hell-hound from the nethermost depths of the underworld. The canine atrocity lunged for Lenin, obeying the will of Karl Marx and slaying the fuck out of him with nary a pity or remorse.

"Sa Da Tay! The ancestral guitar of Lincoln has amplified his puissant leechcraft even further! Perhaps this doddering niggard is more of a threat than I first anticipated," Fidel Castro grumbled under his breath, swishing his sable cloak behind him as he stormed out of the chamber. Nixon and his malevolent assistant, _Spiro Agnew,_ dragged Lenin's corpse out of Marx's sight to give him a proper Communist burial. Fidel Castro is frequently upset by Adam Sandler's elaborate show-tunes.

Elsewhere, the Last Alliance approached the borders of the forbidden Russian sector, a territory loyal to neither Americans nor Communists. Sonic himself had always been impressed by their culture and ancestral traditions. For even without patriotic glory and salvation, they were a revered and passionate folk, spiritually ablaze like ferocious squib. Michael Jordan had heard of the great tales and swevens of this god-fearing land, where even the most lissom of fucklings could participate in a hearty drink of Vodka and wrestle a Grizzly bear to death for pride and honor.

"Now I'll tell you what, my scanners are picking up some sort of whack-ass Communist interference," Hank Hill told the brotherhood, punching in a combination of codes into his motorcycle's keyboard to repair the severed communications. The silence of their lone journey was broken as they trod past the border, greeted by a Russian Battle Cube that was under siege by a rabble of savage Communist soldiers. Sonic turned to his brother and grinned with a patriotic fervor, crossing the threshold and engaging the subhuman Communists in battle.

The Last Alliance dispersed, joining the Russians that defended their outpost astride their soaring space-bears. The heavenly Russian bears flapped their feathered wings of ivory and gold, launching torpedoes from their gaping jaws in unison. A vicious horde of the Communist warlords piled onto Dilbert, tearing at his flesh and quaffing from his blood until he crashed into the iron shell of the Battle Cube, his body engulfed in a fiery cosmic fuckflame.

"I'll avenge ye' laddy! Prepare to have a whiff of me patriotic fuckfury!" Cory Baxter threatened in his native Scottish accent, veering to the right and unloading on the horde with his dual shotguns. Mutilated bear corpses floated through the stars as these impious legions advanced, with Captain Picard fending off the frontmost infantry with his Phaser-Guitar. "Slaying Communists? Sorry, there's just no market for that in this economy," Rick Harrison quipped with a pious swagger, beheading one of the dybbuk warlords from behind with a slice of his golden katar.

The ford of gurgles and guttural snarls of Communists was parted athwart by a throaty rumble approaching from the distance. A heavenly call, slowly but surely becoming louder like a thunderous American incantation of yore. It was the angelic sound of Black Metal! It cried aloud with nary a concern, as if a trumpet had summoned it to battle. The carrier of this holy gospel was the righteous 18-Wheeler Truck of which Sonic shared his feelings, its power innate and right to rule divine.

A single tear fell from the weary patriot's eye as the ferocious Big Rig slew the Communist warlords, grinding their bones and leathery skin beneath its wheels with nary a driver at the helm to tame this beast of American spirit. Sonic swiftly took up his guitar Freedom, and his brotherhood of steel joined him in song as he finally rocked the fuck out.

 _"Freedom is my lady!_

Patriots, lend me your ear

 _Freedom is my lady!_

Light a blunt and crack open a cold beer

 _Freedom is my lady!_

She'll comb your chest hair with patriotic might

 _Freedom is my lady!_

We'll be gettin' it on tonight and every other night

 _Freedom is my lady!_

Patriotic lovin' feels so good, so tight

 _Freedom is my lady!_

The Communist Armies she will smite!"


	79. (2013) Road to Mount Moscow

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 30 - ROAD TO MOUNT MOSCOW  
**

* * *

The fiery stallion made short work of the Communist legions. The dismembered corpses of the impious carrot-snappers drifted through the stars, almost as if some warlord of American ferocity had drizzled them with a coat of their sable loin's finest gorilla milk. The Russians dismounted their angelic steeds, circling around the Last Alliance with chainsaws roaring and eyes wreathed with flames. "So much for the fabled Russian hospitality," Captain Picard quipped, restraining himself from slicing upon their gullets and hewing off their bearded faces with his phaser.

Michael Jordan strode forth with a thunderous swagger, removing his glove and pimp-slapping one of the Grizzly bears as to strike fear into the Russians' blasphemous souls. "You have no authority to treat with such righteous Americans, gaze upon thine own pitiable existence and depart back to whence you came. Forsooth, our Big Rig shall not falter to slay you and quaff from your lifeblood, you bearded, ushanka-wearing peckerwoods," The mahogany warlord Michael Jordan bellowed in his heavenly speech. Rick Harrison managed to wear out his new catchphrase "can't fuck with my swag" in a record five hours.

The Russians warbled savagely amongst themselves, tarrying on and lowering their weapons as to not provoke such puissant Americans. The thrawn-faced spokesman amongst their ranks threw back his helmet, goggling upon them and tightening his loin girdle before he spoke. They could not even do the Amazon Fire to a hoofy with that pitiable shit.

"Hearken unto me, for I shall not stutter. You jive turkeys have been bestowed a great honor as to visit our tricknologic motherland, forsooth you shall be the first Americans to trod upon our soil for centuries. Our leader shall judge the fate of you west end curve-peelers," The froward Russian rasped. As much as he tried to hide it, Cory Baxter was clearly disgusted by their tasteless babbling fraught with sins unequaled.

"You nignoramuses may be heckling now, but it shan't be so humorous when I slap the sin out of your poon pubs and booger-hook you fuck-shwartz back to Compton," Michael Jordan jeered in a playful manner, and the graven Russians were clearly amazed by his ferocity and brutal linguistic skill. The Russians mounted their heavenly bears, flying down to the surface of the planet as the alliance trailed behind them astride their righteous motorcycles.

They were guided to a deeply cloven mountain peak emblazoned with snow atop it, an ancient stronghold of rock and vale known as Mount Moscow. Guarded by mighty gates hewn from silver, for beyond them was a grand corridor dolven deep into the heart of the mountain. The Last Alliance strode into the golden halls of the fortress alongside their bitter guides, invited to a grand banquet alongside hundreds of hearty Russian warlords.

Their they quaffed upon gallons of Vodka and feasted upon roasted dinosaur meat freshly picked off the bone. However, Hank Hill refused to feed upon this bountiful meal. "I don't eat cooked meat, it needs to be raw and still squirming. If I had my shotgun with me, I'd go give the chef a piece of my mind," Hank Hill explained after prior being thoroughly questioned by their hosts.

As nightfall struck the land, the prideful Russians finished their meal by singing a hearty drinking song of angelic beauty, slurring their words together with drunken pride and joy. The Last Alliance sang aloud alongside them, adding their heavenly voices to the chorus.

"Chug some Vodka, wrestle a bear!

Wear a Ushanka, throw down a chair!

Crack the plates, punch a fellow!

Smoke this joint, you'll be real mellow!

Install this dashcam in your car!

Follow me lads, we'll fight in a bar!

We battle for honor, we'll never croak!

'Tis the life of the passionate Russian folk!"


	80. (2013) Bill Cosby's Dream

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 31 - BILL COSBY'S DREAM  
**

* * *

The Biker Brethren settled down for a fortnight in one of the queer Arab lodgings, a place hewn of clay and mud and dolven into the mountains. Garfield was busy fashioning a lasagna feast, craftily substituting the cheese with sand, and substituting the other ingredients with sand as well. Needless to say, the meal was delicious and warmed the souls of these rugged compatriots. Charles Barkley started to panic after trapping a wasp under his cup.

Abraham Lincoln strode into the pitiable dwellings in which he would slumber, pleased to see his bed was a jagged boulder lodged into the leftmost corner of the room. The coarse warlord reached into his satchel woven from Communist thigh-skin, retrieving his flask of ale that was placed next to a severed dinosaur head. Bill Cosby revealed himself from an unlit niche in the corner of the room that hid his face, scowling at Lincoln like a nignorant slag scowls at the penniless honkies who cannot meet her price in the cracker hood.

"Lincoln, if you were any other American, I'd kill you where you stand. Your detestable nignorance disgusts me!" Bill Cosby scoffed while goggling upon the rugged patriot, tossing his guitar on the ground in disgust. Lincoln's wispy chest hair quivered in the moonlight as he turned to meet Cosby's hostile glare, "Cosby, surely you know better than to chastise a tempered American demigod with your noisome slang. What is the meaning of this negromancy? We are allies!" Abraham questioned calmly, unknowing of his accusations.

Bill Cosby crinkled his nose in annoyance, "Don't pretend that you do not know of which I speak. I saw you during the skirmish with those savage Arabs and Communists, you were enjoying slaughtering them! This quest has grown far past the pursuit of mere self defense and American liberation! Art thou loins not girded? What happened to the idealistic American man who dreamed of peace between our two races all those years ago? Has war corrupted and defiled your soul like the sodomous carrot-snappers of yore?" The mahogany warrior inquisited with a hostile swagger, gyrating his hips to and fro as he trod nearer.

Lincoln stood upright before the wizened Cosby, gritting his teeth and clenching upon a wad of barbed wire to calm himself and lower stress. "During my tarrying as a Communist soldier, I learned secrets of our enemy that few patriots could comprehend. Their subhuman culture has grown in strength and divinity, shedding the sins and sodomy of their forefathers and coming to the light. There is a rebellion in its infancy to overthrow Karl Marx, they yearn for the teat of Lady Liberty's wisdom to learn our ways! We must now fight alongside them in their righteous quest. Don't let your grief over Sonic and Jordan's deaths cloud your judgement to a peaceful solution!" Bill Cosby elaborated in his guttural voice. However, Lincoln refused to believe in such an optimistic future for the savage race.

"DAMMIT, Bill Cosby! They're not people, they're Communists! They've taken my family, my honor, and _everything_ from me except for my patriotism. My American spirit is all I've got left, and you're telling me to grant them mercy? I refuse to believe they have any hope of redemption. The line must be drawn here! Freedom is like diarrhea, _it never stops!"_ Abraham Lincoln roared with the combined ferocity of ten thousand Grizzly bears, brutally pimp-slapping Bill Cosby across the room with nary a concern. Realizing what he had done in a fit of rage, Abe reached out his hand and tried to help Cosby to his feet, "Cosby, old friend! Forgive me, I just-"

"Don't bother!" Lincoln's companion snarled, slapping away his hand. Cosby parted his chapped lips, licking off the blood trickling down his cheeks with his forked-tongue. "...I should have known that you hoofy-macking nignoramuses wouldn't help me. Slaying Communists without reason shan't un-kill your family, Lincoln! I shall seek the hood of the only person here who still has any sense: _myself!"_ The jive turkey Cosby gurgled, storming out of the hut and departing off into the desert. Garfield and Charles Barkley decided the only way to kill the wasp was to burn down the house, and they were right.


	81. (2013) The Death of Tupac Shakur

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 32 - THE DEATH OF TUPAC SHAKUR  
**

* * *

The fall of the Americaverse began when the three races waged a grievous war against each other. They were the Americans, the Communists, and the Russians. The Americans, a prideful and spiritual folk, donned their raiment of wrought iron and quaffed from their liquid democracy. From within the mountains they dolve deep, forging motorcycles and silver phalluses mounted upon pikes of which they craftily called "swords". Otherwise, it would be gay.

Many of the demigods, last of the ancestral line of patriotic deities, departed into the deathless lands of the White House. However, the most righteous among them stayed to fight for the patriotism and liberty denied them. Among this heavenly alliance were _Tupac Shakur_ and his eldest son, _Abraham Lincoln._

A bloodthirsty breed of Communists known as Nazis were soon bred by the thundering warlord that commanded them, born from the godless love of virgin men and Sasquatch. They worshiped he who waits beyond the veil of sanity graven and still, bearer of the torch whose flame is Satanic. He who perpetuates the torture of the damned, and sings the everlasting song of death upon the living. The faceless king reclaims his throne stained of the blood of those who denied him patriotic grace and divinity; of which are life's greatest lies.

The withered husks of those who deny his right to rule are the testaments of his cruelty and malice. They now feel only pain, robbed of their right to perish unless he so commands it. He is clad in swart raiment hewn from the suffering of the unborn and imbued with the blood of the sleepless dead. He is _Adolf Hitler!_ All shall hearken intently upon his noisome speech, they shall worship him and eternally despair! His right to rule was truly divine, and he strode forth with his subhuman armies of the godless to reclaim the heavens of which he was forbidden.

Therefore his armies fell upon the Americaverse like a black wind over the sea, kin-slaying every man as they crawled out of their subterranean dwellings of wretched sodomy. Thousands of warlords and great men of patriotic swagger were lost or dragged off and tortured by their insurmountable foes, but the righteous Tupac stood erect and graven such as a tower whose house endured a mighty storm. "There are no brakes on the freedom train! Choo-choo, motherfuckers!" Biggie Smalls roared, using his ghetto sorcery to close the gaping portal to the underworld of which Hitler's armies poured from like flittermice.

The impious armies of the damned and Americans alike fell silent as Adolf Hitler rose from the raging seas of magma from underneath the surface, tremors erupting like thunder as he tread upon our sinful earth. All who gazed upon his twisted and misshapen face would be eternally cursed, his relentless hatred for life and malice haunting their collective families and defiling the corpses of their restless dead. However, Tupac Shakur stood still and unflinching, beaming like a lone star amongst a raging storm of Nazi fuckery.

Hitler unhinged his gaping jaws like a ferocious serpent, swallowing billions of Americans and Communists alike and impaling their mouldering corpses upon his fangs. Tupac Shakur unsheathed his gleaming guitar, of which shone bright and pale such as a shard of ice. His mail was overlaid with silver and glistening ivory, cold and deadly like his spirit. He crinkled his nose in disgust at the impious warlord, fearlessly staring down the common enemy of all free men.

George Washington sympathized with their noble quest to douse the unquenchable flame that was a proud Nazi warlord, so he used all of his grace and patriotic divinity to create mighty feathered steeds known as the eagle kinsmen to smite his exiled son. Tupac swung gracefully with his heavenly guitar, severing the arm of the colossal fucklord and casting him back into the abyss. The mightiest of the eagle kinsmen, Freedom-Song, descended upon the former-deity and slew him without pity or remorse. The Communist legions soon crumbled, crawling back into the festering void from whence they came.

Tupac Shakur the Holy was praised throughout the land for his valiant effort, and after many ages of peace he grew feeble and miserly with the passage of time. His servants and closest friends, Biggie Smalls and Snoop Dogg, accompanied him on his final journey as he traveled to the angelic White House at the end of his days. However, they were ambushed by a rabble of subhuman Communist fucklings led by the vengeful Karl Marx and his mightiest servants. They fought without honor, slaying them all upon the gates of the White House and quaffing from their lifeblood.

For committing such a detestable act of sin, George Washington cursed Adam Sandler to become a hideous, subhuman wretch while still in the womb. Thenceforth, Abraham Lincoln vowed to break the bloodline of Hitler and restore honor to his family at whatever the costs, even if it meant genocide...


	82. (2013) The Pity of Hank Hill

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 33 - THE PITY OF HANK HILL  
**

* * *

An immeasurable throng of sordid Communist ambassadors pooled into the obsidian chambers of Karl Marx, each unsanctimonious dotard swaddled in priceless raiments of mail overlaid with chalcedony and gold-pressed latinum. Karl Marx raised his chalice of curdled hellhound blood, gesturing for his concourse of guests to sit at an iron table that was around two furlongs in length. Among this wicked council of villainy were _Friedrich Engels, Leonid Brezhnev, Ho Chi Minh, Leon Trotsky, Che Guevara,_ and _Gary Busey._ Karl Marx told Adam Sandler to sit in the corner and not act like the hollering fuckmeister he usually was.

"My Communist brotherhood, a most noisome news of mouldering bootymancy has graced our ears. The Last Alliance, an ancient order of which was smote eons ago by our ancestors, has risen once more! We are gathered here to combat this growing threat, and do what must be done to extinguish these subhuman Americans," Marx bellowed before them, furrowing his eyebrows in annoyance as the ambassadors before him gurgled throatily amongst themselves out of fear and confusion.

 _Hulk Hogan 7,_ the most recent clone of the original Communist chieftain who loyally served alongside Hitler, ferally tore off his shirt and slammed his fists upon the table. "The solution is most simple for an all-seeing necromancer such as I, so I doubt you taint-soaked chunks of flotsam would understand. We must prepare the drawing ritual to resurrect the most feared Communist warlord of all: the carrion lord, the faceless king! The sleepless wraith of whom I speak is Adolf Hitler, an accursed name of which strikes fear into every American and makes their loins pucker!" Neil Degrasse Tyson burbled pompously, for the Arc science-wizard of the Communist dominion thought very highly of himself.

Mao Zedong frowardly rose from his seat at the fag-end of the table to stare down Tyson, "Pious hogwash spouted by a tomnoddy as usual, hast thou forgotten the holy code of the thug life written by Eddie Murphy two centuries ago? Rule thirty-seven, paragraph five states that deity resurrections are impossible! Even if we could do such a thing, Hitler would gladly kill us along with the Americans!" The distant relative of Big Kim Jong Un chastised with his Communist wiles, grinning from ear to ear as to flaunt his grill fraught with sodomy stains.

"And you're forgetting appendix eighty-five, chapter nine: I have the right to slap your shit!" Neil Degrasse Tyson threatened defensively in a guttural snarl, hoisting Mao Zedong up by his gullet and brutally shanking him with his notched science dagger. After an exceptionally drunken night, Adam Sandler has finally finished his third erotic novel.

Elsewhere, Sonic and Michael Jordan strode throughout a sprawling labyrinth of corridors to enter the nethermost depths of Mount Moscow. They came upon the hallowed halls of Grand Nagus Putin, dolven deep within the mountains centuries prior, featuring twin sculptures of admirable Russian warlords running athwart from Putin's blessed throne. The graven and uncovered muscles of this imposing Nagus pulsated with divine swagger, his abs emblazoned with self-inflicted scars formed in the shape of the hammer and sickle to assert his dominance. His natural musk echoed throughout the hall such as graceful Opera, and his were eyes brazen and cold.

His throne stood as an eyot atop a river of magma, complimented by the doggerel phrases branded upon the skulls of his concubines that failed him. He donned his gold-trimmed Ushanka, standing daunting and erect before his American guests. Sonic and Michael Jordan tore off their own shirts as a formal greeting, their utmost confidence and righteous patriotism unrivaled. As was tradition, these hearty patriots were to deliver a gift unto Putin as a sign of their goodwill to these ignominious Russians. The heavens thundered as Michael Jordan performed a divine hamboning ceremony, the rhythmic slaps upon his chiseled chest and mahogany abs echoing throughout space and time. Putin was thoroughly impressed, puckering his chapped lips and applauding their show of innate skill.

Rick Harrison and Hank Hill decided to bide their time at a Russian bar, drinking away their sorrows over a flask of ale. "Now I'll tell you what, I want the most expired, curdled drink you have. Whatever tickles my innards," Hank Hill spoke in the voice of a besotted drunkard, talking to the bartender that was a firm-muscled beast with golden hair known as _Winnie the Pooh._ The enigmatic bartender stepped behind the counter, handing Hank an acidic, sallow liquid. He heartily threw it down in one gulp, licking his lips before speaking, "That's a mighty brew, fit for a patriot. What do you call it?"

"Son, what you just drank was my urine. Piss and Americans like you have a lot in common. They're bubbly and proud on the outside, they bow before no man. But once you indulge in them, they can ruin your life. And the worst part? Once you drink enough, you actually start to like it. The last time we Russians had dealings with your people, it took us centuries to rebuild. During the war all those centuries ago, we were almost destroyed! They even killed my son, Christopher Robin," Winnie the Pooh grumbled throatily, refilling Hank Hill's mug with his piss. The rugged patriot couldn't help but pity the Russians, their people slayed in droves by Communists centuries ago. By the time the American armies arrived to help, their motherland laid in waste and smouldering desolation.


	83. (2013) Demise of Richard Nixon

**SONIC THE HEDGEHOG: DEFENDER OF AMERICA - 2013 EDITION**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 34 - DEMISE OF RICHARD NIXON  
**

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Garfield tore his stylish smock asunder from righteous anger, chugging down his seventh frothy glass of Jagermeister in one gulp. The Biker Brethren had scoured and hobbled throughout the desert for nearly a fortnight in search of Bill Cosby, such as derisory footpads looting graves and cultivating no piety. The weary compatriots trod into the ramshackle valley of Somalia, a godless territory fraught with sand-monkeys and the sodomous enemies of American freedom and divinity.

Bill Cosby creaked open the oaken door to his dwellings at the zenith of a forsaken watchpost he had claimed by squatter's law. He reeled back in shock, startled at the sight of two swarthy cloaked figures at his doorstep. The black riders flung back their hoods, revealing the graven, scarred faces of Richard Nixon and the impious chieftain swaddled in the pelt of Sasquatch, Spiro Agnew. Nixon strode forth with a detestable swagger, brandishing his chainsaw-guitar as he circled around Cosby. Like any virile American male would, Garfield has outlawed hugging during this week's recreational cannibalism night.

His forked tongue danced around the twisted surface of his chainsaw, Cosby's reflection gleaming off of the cracked blade as he stepped forth. Abraham Lincoln's braided chest hair quivered in the rising sun, a sign as old as the Americaverse itself as a warning of forthcoming disaster. Honest Abe unsheathed his katana like the warlords of yore, following the direction of his erect chest hair to track down Bill Cosby. The Biker Brethren performed graceful parkour leaps and maneuvers, scaling the daunting watchtower in a matter of moments to arrive at Cosby's aid.

Garfield crinkled his nose in disgust at the repulsive sight of Nixon, their fallen ally who strewn the American heroes away like emptied bottles of Vodka in favor of his Communist sodomy and shame. Nixon curved his chapped lips into an unsanctimonious smirk, impaling Bill Cosby from behind with his chainsaw just to spite the Americans. Cosby shakily fell to his knees, roaring into the rising sun like a true patriot as his lifeblood pooled into the leftmost corner of the chamber. Legions of vicious wolves and godless hellhounds joined him in his throaty song, joining hand in hand over the horizon to honor this fallen warrior of American grace.

Clearly outnumbered, the philistines Nixon and Spiro Agnew fled and leapt out of the window like pitiable cowards. Lincoln collapsed to his knees, cradling Bill Cosby's desecrated body in his arms and stroking the wispy hairs upon his head. "Abraham... my closest friend. Forgive me as my final wish, for I have committed detestable acts of sin against you and America. That is my burden to bear, a shameful baggage of which I shalt carry throughout the next life. Cry out for me Lincoln, roar into the night to warn the warlords of the afterlife of my arrival. Honor my memory by living as I once did, righteous and faultless. _Zippity zop zooboo zoo..."_ Bill Cosby murmured with his dying breath, fighting until the very end for the words to escape from his lips and every other orifice. He fell limp in Lincoln's arms, robbed of his graceful life.

Abraham Lincoln wept upon his body, clutching Cosby's final Pudding Pop in his calloused hands and devouring it whole. **"NIIIXOOOOON!"** Honest Abe sobbed and howled into the stars, his guttural words echoing throughout the land like thunder for eons to come. Freedom-Song and two of his kinsmen plummeted from the heavens above, coming to the aid of the Biker Brethren to fulfill the ancient blood-oath of their forefathers. The brotherhood of steel leapt from a lone balcony at the topmost point of the tower, landing atop their pious eagle steeds as to ride them into battle.

Nixon and his wicked assistant hijacked an Arab dinosaur swaddled in the cosmic space armor, escaping into the arid sands devoid of life that cloaked this forsaken moonbase. Garfield gracefully swept down astride his eagle steed, Liberty-Hymn, slicing upon the beast's scaly hide with his Chainsaw-Nunchucks. The man-cat was drenched with a freshet of curdled dinosaur blood, and he licked his lips with pride and patriotic fury. Spiro Agnew gurgled savagely in a throaty roar, his grenade launcher ejaculating a barrage of squib-like explosives at Abraham Lincoln.

"Take my freedom, and shove it up your ass!" Abe Lincoln quipped, catching the grenades between his teeth and spitting them back at Spiro Agnew. The only thing comparable in grace and ferocity was having a heated arm-wrestling competition with Ron Paul. Agnew's mutilated body was strewn across the desert, the eagle kinsmen pecking at his remains to gain his strength and courage.

Abraham and Charles Barkley leapt atop the gargantuan beast, charging for Richard Nixon with guitars unsheathed. Lincoln spared this heinous fuckthain no mercy, severing Nixon's guitar in two with his katana and brutally pounding him into submission with his fists such as a blacksmith tempering smouldering metals. Nixon kicked his patriotic opponent to the ground, looming up before him and retrieving his dagger. Flames ran down the blade of this accursed shillelagh, a godless light that shone to all but illuminated nothing.

"Old fool! My hour is drawing nigh, dost thou not recognize damnation when you see it? Flee into the eternal nothingness that awaits you and your kinsmen!" Nixon threatened savagely, shakily grasping his dagger almost if he was hesitating to complete the dark deeds of Karl Marx. Lincoln turned up his nose and heartily laughed at his pitiable show of mercy, a great wind befalling this land as Abraham confidently rose to his feet. "Your dagger is broken!" Lincoln commanded in his thundering voice, and without a single finger laid atop it Nixon's blade cracked and shattered.

Nixon whimpered and shook in horror, scrambling backwards as Lincoln trod forward. "You would not slay me, you dotard spawned from the godless love of Tupac Shakur and a harlot! Your words are poison, your swagger is like that of a pitiable fuckling! You would never slay a fellow American, especially one you fought alongside in battle!" Richard warbled and spat, being hoisted up by the calloused fingers of Honest Abe. "Freedom is blind, Dick Nixon. _Fuck you, I'm Abraham Lincoln!"_ Honest Abe roared, crushing Richard Nixon's skull and hurling his ruined body into the desert for the buzzards to feast upon.

The three members of the Biker Brethren stood graven and still as the land was benighted, lowering their heads to mourn the loss of Bill Cosby and their former ally. Lincoln sighed, "Cosby... is it possible those damned Commies can still change? Could they put aside their wicked ways and walk into the light? Perhaps my rage really has blinded me to their potential. Rest in peace, old friend..."


	84. Closing Thoughts (End of Part 1)

**CLOSING THOUGHTS**

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And with that, Sonic the Hedgehog: Defender of America finally comes to a close. I'd like to thank all of my readers for accompanying me on this patriotic journey and making this fanfic possible. Your continued support has helped me overcome all the challenges I've faced along the way and has encouraged me to grow immensely as a writer. Without your encouragement, this never would have been possible!

Feel free to leave a review to share your favorite moments and chapters and what you'd like to see in the sequel. As always, all feedback is extremely appreciated! The second installment should be ready to go in a few weeks, and all questions left behind in Defender of America's explosive finale will finally be answered. I plan to post an update to this story when the sequel has been uploaded, so make sure to check back soon.

Until next time! Keep up the patriotism.

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 **Coming Soon: The Second Installment in the "Defender of America" Saga - Sonic the Hedgehog: Make America Great Again!**


	85. Make America Great Again (Sequel Update)

_The year is 2010. The United States of America as we know it has been destroyed._

 _Long ago, we looked upon a foreboding sky. The fifty-million year conflict between the Americans and Communists raged, destroying all life in its wake. The forces of America lost the war and were annihilated in an apocalyptic bloodbath, a cataclysmic event that would later come to be known as "Americageddon." The final war may have ended, but for some, the real battle has only just begun._

 _In an age where the wicked forces of Marxism reign, there is still one righteous patriot still alive and able to fight for American justice and freedom. His name is Sonic the Hedgehog, a man known by his enemies only as the Communist-Hunter._

 _Armed to the teeth and ready to avenge his fallen kinsmen, Sonic sets out alone on his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle to fight the cruel fate that his people have been dealt. This hedgehog will let nothing stop him, not even death itself, until he frees his enslaved country from the diabolical clutches of Communism and restores the Americaverse to its former glory._

 _This is the chronicle of this man's life, death, and the legacy he left behind. This is his story..._

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 **(** ** **12/15/16)** EDIT: Sorry about the wait! It completely slipped my mind to update the story when the sequel went up like I said I would. If by any chance you don't follow me and missed it being posted, head over to my profile and start reading ****_Sonic the Hedgehog: Make America Great Again_ today. I've already got the first 12 chapters up, and many more are coming soon.  
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 **And remember: the only good Commie is a dead Commie!**


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